Legacy - Standing Before the Solar
by Late to the Party
Summary: In this sprawling AU piece, IWD, the BG saga and NWN1&2 all come together across three generations. The premise of the Bhaalspawn continuing the adventure in NWN1 was the inspiration for this. Through a series of flashbacks, our heroine engages with the Solar in a certain pocketplane and must account and learn for herself and her ancestors. First written in 2014.
1. Present Day I

**A/N: So I'm posting this against my better judgement. I wrote this back in 2014, and quite frankly, it's not my best work. But it's been requested that I put it up as it is an IWD-BG saga-NWN crossover, and so here we are. At the time of this note (22nd Sept 2019), the piece has been dormant since 2016. My notes indicate that I had three spurts of writing: 2014, 2015, and 2016.**

**I'm going to be honest here: I find Neverwinter Nights 2 is a nightmare to write for on account of the mass of content, the linear path, and how the different pieces connect to each other. Cutting parts out mean that other parts don't make a whole lot of sense. There's also the overwhelming number of demons cropping up pretty much everywhere if one takes IWD-BG-NWN into account; it gets ridiculous.**

**All that said, I hope you enjoy this. I do have other unfinished crossover pieces, as well as a NWN2 'best possible outcome' playthrough fic (1st person) and one day, I hope to finish the concept of a saga crossover. In the meantime, there's this.**

**If you do read this, please do read and review. I am interested in feedback! Tell me what you like, hate, and please don't point out any typos!**

**-LttP.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the names, characters, setting contained within. Bioware/Black Isle/Interplay does - with the exception of the protagonist characters. Those are mine.**

* * *

_Present Day_

The silver sword hung loose in Aria's hand. Faetix's weight on her forearm had vanished; the mind-link silent. As her eyes adjusted to the brilliant hue, she found herself lost in the Solar's gaze. Twin flares of white displayed ageless wisdom, compassion, strength. A giant cast in translucent blue, wings of white fell from her shoulders. A golden circlet crowned flaming locks. Jutting over her shoulder, a sword of light shone, while a skirted breastplate sheathed her radiance.

Aria drew herself back from the brink and steeled herself. Around her, everything seemed grey. A moment ago, she had been in Kelemvor's realm, before the Judge of the Damned himself. Now the City of the Dead was gone, and so was the Wall of the Faithless.

_"Do you know where you are, godchild?"_

The Solar's voice was a choir of chimes, mesmerising, enchanting. With a greater effort of will than it took to match Kelemvor stare for stare, Aria pulled herself away and squared herself against the strange skyless chamber. Green streaks coursed overhead in a burgeoning mass of cloud.

"The planes."

The Solar inclined her unblinking stare ever so slightly.

Every fibre of her being set her mind tumbling. It felt familiar, but she had never been here before; this was not the Plane of Shadows.

_"This is the Abyss. Do you know why you are here?"_

Aria touched the oval gem tucked safe within her silken mail and flinched. A sense of imminent warning coursed through her, not that she needed to be told. Her eyes hardened. This was not the first Solar she'd dealt with. Gloved fingers tightened around the hilt. Where was Faetix?

_"There is a choice to be made."_ Unfazed, or perhaps unaware, the Solar seemed to radiate patience and calm.

Then Aria found herself fixing on the featureless room's doorway. Beyond, a throne lay empty. There should have been a sigil but if there had ever been one, it was gone. She pulled her stare towards the Solar and waited.

_"You have a claim."_ When no answer was forthcoming, the Solar continued. _"Your choice _must_ be made. Ao has decreed that this conflict will draw to a close. Many of the gods believe you are too powerful. I shall stand as arbiter and weigh the strength of your guilt against your birthright."_

She felt the hunger build within her. Echoes of the hunger. She had torn her soul from the Wall of the Faithless, but a deeper, darker taint had watched, learned, and waited. In this place, she could feel it stir. Her hidden strength, the dark dreams.

_"Enough, godchild. You will not unleash that here."_

_"Zoab thought he could control me."_ Almost slavishly, she felt herself salivate as the darkness stretched within her. Zoab had radiated crimson where this one was blue. _"I consumed him."_

_"The curse consumed him."_ The Solar corrected, the faintest note of reproach colouring her tone. _"Be still."_ It was not directed at her, but at what was within. _"You will not challenge me here."_ She was not the fallen Solar Zoab was.

The darkness receded, and Aria found she could breathe again. It was worse here, so much worse.

_"You are here because of your sire, godchild."_

A vision engulfed her. Two faces she recognised from her dreams, the whispers from the darkness. Abandoned. Forsaken. Rejected. A torrent of raw anguish tore through her in a cyclone of rising fury. Rumours, half truths, lies.

_"You are his legacy."_

"Is he here?" She could barely hear her own voice.

The Solar smiled gently, sadly. _"You will meet with him soon, godchild. First you must learn of your heritage and the choice before you."_

"What choice?" She understood even before the words faded. "You keep calling me 'godchild'." She could barely breathe. Which god? Where was Faetix? If this Solar had hurt him…

_"Do you know who you are?"_

A flood of memories crashed against her waking mind. _Kalach-cha_. _Spirit-Eater_. _Knight-captain of Crossroads Keep… once_. _Daughter of a traitor. _"I will not tell you my True Name."

The understanding in the Solar's smile held a note of amusement. _"I did not ask for it. You carry a soul gem above your heart."_

"She speaks to me." Troubled, she felt her fingers slowly unclench. "Whispers. Images."

_"Yes. Your sire's mother. Do you know who she was?"_

Aria shook her head.

_"It is time you learnt the truth. Come, godchild."_


	2. 1281 DR

1281 DR

Grey faded into mist, and endless white formed. Snow. A derelict fortress with five towers, like fingers reaching up from the ground.

_"Do you recognise this place, godchild?"_

Aria turned, her frown deepening. Her sword was gone, along with her armour. Only a simple under-gown remained; she could see through her hands. Was she…?

_"Not dead, godchild. Look."_

An elf. Features Aria instantly recognised; for a moment, she thought she saw herself, but the features were sharper, harsher, without softness or pity. Those eyes. So cold. Colder than this land. She felt something tug in the back of her throat; she knew the woman's touch.

_"Yes." _The Solar agreed simply.

Aria stared, and finding she could move, circled around the woman. Tall, even regal. Such a proud cast, far prouder than her own. She could feel her strength. Silks and yeti pelt clad her in robes and under the fur, a single satchel sat at her left shoulder. Aria's breath caught. She knew those boots, that cloak, those gloves, that scarf. Reaching out, she hesitated. _"Can she?"_

_"No. We are outside of this memory."_

Aria felt herself nod. Then her eyes fixed on a distant point. A ruined chamber. Then she glanced back at the woman, then questioningly at the Solar.

_"In life, she wore many names. She is known to your sire as–"_

_"Aliana…"_

_"Yes."_

Another scan revealed no other life. The scene shifted.

The chamber. A great tower fallen to ruin. Wraiths. Spectres. Elves. Aria felt herself tighten reflexively, but the Solar remained unconcerned.

Aliana passed through the spectres alone.

_"What was this place?"_

_"The Hand of the Seldarine."_

The elf stopped. From her shoulder, a long, serpentine head poked out. Greenish teal with a pale yellow, and splashes of paler pink, the tiny faerie dragon sniffed at the air. Whirling multicoloured eyes glared.

_"Faetix!"_

Aliana's silence was enough for the faerie dragon to lay his slender neck against her shoulder, his claws peeking out of the satchel. He was smaller than Aria recalled, she observed, as her own gaze grew to echo Aliana's.

_"What happened here? Why are they trapped here?"_

_"Watch."_

The vision jumped. A lich; a Baelnorn. Books. So many books. Shelves and shelves. Ramblings. Aria strained, but she couldn't make sense of it. Lifting her eyes, she watched Aliana appear in the entrance.

Words passed. Larrel, an archmage, the Baelnorn. An orcish host had descended. A mythal cast – Larrel as the orcs breeched the third floor. All trapped as spectres, and Larrel transformed.

_"He's mad…"_ Circling around him, Aria reached out her hand. _"So much death… so much pain. Such weight."_

_"Yes."_ The Solar agreed.

_"Such knowledge. So many books."_ In spite of all the blood her blade had spilt, she felt her heart give. _"It wasn't enough."_

The Solar watched, and Aria found herself watching with her.

As the rambling turned to mumbling and Larrel wandered through the shelves and stairwells, Aliana scoured the tomes. Finally, she made her selection. Aria scanned her choice. 'Elameth's Compendium'. Glancing up from the leather-bound book, she looked inquiringly at the Solar, then set her hand against the cover. It opened before her touch, and a wealth of sketches and notes appeared. Various magical artefacts and their plans and processes by the elven enchanter 'Elameth' and the dwarven smith 'Karador'. Aria let the pages fall closed.

The other tome was on the theory of mythals.

Alone with Faetix, Aliana began to search the rest of the towers.

Aria's breath caught once again. Another elven spectre shouldering a bow she knew all too well, the same bow that hung from her back.

_"Who…"_

_"Kaylessa."_

More words were exchanged, and another name, Denaini, brought up. An agreement reached. The mists shifted.


	3. Present Day II

_Present Day_

_"She killed her."_

_"Yes."_

Aliana stood over a broken body. Ilmadia, she had called her, her words soft, even affectionate. Spells exchanged, raw, untamed power forced into blinding, dizzying light and tearing through defences, armour and into flesh. Ilmadia gasped, screamed and fell.

_"Did she know?"_

_"Watch."_

Aliana leaned down and gently pulled out a chain with a badge on. Emblazoned on it was a unicorn's head. A murmured prayer. Instinctively, Aria's hand reached for her armour's missing pauldron.

_"But – why? How did they know each other?"_

Carefully, Aliana lifted Ilmadia's shield and fastened it across her back, and set the fallen elf's sword and scabbard in her belt. Faetix curled up within Aliana's hood, his gaze downcast.

Aria stared at the Solar.

The scene altered again.

The vaults of a temple. A blue-skinned Baatezu with twisted horns stood in the guise of a priest. Beside the Solar, Aria could feel the wrongness emanating from within him. Aliana faced him, her own features studied, cool beyond composed. They exchanged words as easily as if they were old friends, without the threat of violence and hate.

Belhifet, he introduced himself as. Cordial, urbane, refined, polished. Cultured. Even civilised. His silver-tongue charm dripped honey, but Aliana remained unmoved as he outlined the purpose behind his subterfuge.

An ancient vendetta with the marilith Yxunomei, a multi-armed demon commanding a swarm of Yuan-ti Aliana had dispatched in the Dragon's Eye. Yxunomei had followed him into banishment to destroy him; banished for trying to seize control of his home plane of Baator. Banishment had not altered the plan, simply the details. Out of sight of the rest of his kind, he would build an army here in the north. There was a portal to Baator, sealed beneath a temple of Tempus in the town of Easthaven. Once he could secure the portal, he would unleash devils from Baator and use the souls of the slaughtered to augment his host.

A simple choice lay before her; Aliana could step aside, submit to her new lord, or join the host as one of the captured slain.

The offer made, Belhifet patiently awaited her answer. For several long moments, silence reigned. The Baatezu was all smiles. Those Aliana had slain would be raised in one form or other. Death was only a temporary delay.

Aria tensed. The sheer force of his magnetism pulled at her; how could Aliana withstand it?

Slowly, the elf inclined her head slowly.

Belhifet's smile widened, each gesture perfect. Oozing. There was no other word more suited. "Shall we begin?"

Beneath her robes, silk-like mail shimmered with the air. Larrel, Kaylessa and Denaini materialised with the remaining elven spectres of the Hand of the Seldarine. Aliana's voice rose, her chanting filling the air as the soundless shrieks and battle cries of the trapped spirits rushed the Baatezu and his own summoned allies. Larrel's own mumblings reverberated and the chamber exploded.


	4. 1310 DR

1310 DR

Aria watched. The scene had changed. Easthaven had been rebuilt. Aliana had spent several years in the Hand of the Seldarine, learning all she could from its tomes. Larrel and the others had found rest; Belhifet returned to Baator. Breaking her isolation, she had journeyed with Faetix to the city of Neverwinter in the year 1300 DR, and then to the city of Baldur's Gate and the fortress library of Candlekeep.

In her possession, aside from the tomes of arcane lore, Aliana retained several artefacts, including the mail worn by Ilmadia, her badge and shield, Kaylessa's bow and the heartstone gem.

Bypassing Kuldahur, in which the heartstone was formerly kept, before the archdruid Arundel was slain by the marilith Yxunomei and the gem stolen, Aliana was unaware of the resurgence in the north's troubles.

The birth of Isair and Madae one year after Belhifet's defeat went unnoticed, as did their annexation of the Hand of the Seldarine. As the vision unfolded before her, Aria found she was strangely calm. Returned from Baator, outcast, just as they had been outcast in Kuldahur, the twin's anguish was easy to identify with. Deciding to make their own home, they founded the Legion of the Chimera, establishing a safe haven for outcasts. Engaging in negotiations to prevent hostility, they were given poison food. The pair, their followers and allies retaliated. A sense of distant kinship welled within Aria as she ignored the Solar's silence.

Aliana had not stopped mourning. In the fortress library of Candlekeep, she met a young monk by the name of Gorion. He was brash, uncouth and fraternised with any pretty skirt that caught his eye. He had also been volunteered to show Aliana around the library. She quickly dismissed him, spending most of her time in her cell, and the rest perusing the shelves, always in deep contemplation. Faetix remained on her shoulder whenever he wasn't sunning himself.

Some years later, the news of Targos' cry for help travelled down through passing merchants from Baldur's Gate. As one of the Ten Towns in the north, along with Easthaven and others, Aliana felt no particular attachment towards it, her memories of Ilmadia still too fresh, too raw. Only the murmurs of 'Yuan-ti' caused her to reconsider.

Utilising the heartstone, having previously unlocked the powerful scrying device, Aria watched the shock unravel Aliana's eternally composure as she saw Madae's face. Ilmadia's features were clearly imprinted on the pair, as was their father's. Packing the few things she had, Aliana immediately set out from Candlekeep with the intent to charter a ship. Gorion, recently returned from an excursion with two young half elves he knew, half insisted, half begged to accompany her. He did not offer reasons, but the touch of dragon's fire did not escape Aliana's notice. She refused.

Gorion shadowed her regardless.

Within a few days of arriving within Targos, Aliana found the town besieged. Faetix was not pleased to be back in such smelly conditions, and wrinkled his snout at the racks of drying fish. Aria couldn't help but smile at this.

The attackers carried the banner of the 'Legion of the Chimera', belonging to Isair and Madae.

_"This wasn't their fault. They were provoked."_

The Solar offered only silence.

_"They were betrayed."_

Mist swirled and Aliana opened a portal to near the Hand of the Seldarine. Cagily, Gorion stepped through just before the portal snapped shut.


	5. Present Day III

_Present Day_

_"No."_ Aria's hands clenched. _"This isn't right."_

Words were exchanged, grief and determination heavy in Aliana's gaze. Systematically, she had bypassed each one of the wards set upon the Hand of the Seldarine. Isair and Madae received her. Madae had her mother's eyes, Isair his father's.

_"Watch."_

_"Why? So you can judge me? They deserved better than this. They lost their mother – only to… Ilmadia should never have been raised."_

_"Only her body was raised. Her mind was ravaged by Belhifet."_

Isair informed Aliana simply how Ilmadia had thrown herself off Kuldahur's cliffs a year after their birth, a mind driven mad and broken. Madae sat more quietly, but her eyes just as grim. Aliana's held sympathy, compassion. Madae informed her they had found Yxunomei's portal to Chult beneath Dragon's Eye and the Ten Towns would pay for their betrayal, and so would she.

The scene shifted again.

* * *

"Are you satisfied now, Solar?" Aria's words were etched in acid. The vision had returned to the skyless chamber. "Humans do nothing but betray each other and those around them."

_"That is what your travels have taught you?"_

"Aliana's fate – Gorion professed to love her."

_"She chose to become a priestess of Bhaal."_

"Ilmadia was murdered. Twice. How else could she have found her? That was the pact – Ilmadia's soul for her service. And then – I don't want to see any more. I'm not ashamed of the path I've taken." She set her chin and stared up at the Solar, aware her cheeks were slightly rounded than Aliana's. "Bhaal was a monster. What he did to those women… what he forced them to do, to their own children, and then Gorion! He murdered her and stole her child."

_"Should I hold you to your own judgement, godchild?"_

"I can't help what I am. I never asked to be this way."

The Solar smiled gently, sadly.

The mists parted, inviting her. Aria found herself drawn.


	6. Sacrifice

?-?-?-?

He was beautiful. A child wrapped in his mother's cloak, the knife that should have sacrificed him discarded, fallen at the alter. Aliana's body crumpled beside him. Gorion hefted him, much older now, a capable mage in his own right. His magic had struck her down in cold blood, even as she stood locked in ritual battling against her dread master's command. Other children were there, some very young, others mere babes.

Aliana had nurtured her child, felt his life grow within her. She had murmured her knowledge to him, preparing him. Bhaal, the lord of Murder, had betrayed her. Ilmadia's spirit remained locked in torment, her whispers reaching Aliana. Bhaal's will had shattered hers, but part of her remained, locked, sealed away. The stone she placed around her infant's neck, the stone that held her own spirit now her mortal body was slain.

Sewn into the cloak was a pouch containing its own pocket dimension. Within the bag, she had placed her scarf, her boots, her gloves, Ilmadia's shield, sigil, Kaylessa's bow, the heartstone gem, and her tomes. All that could be of use, she prepared. And a letter. Faetix, she placed within a jar and sealed in a magical sleep, gently unwinding the bond between them. No longer an infant, her boy had grown, silently observing her, listening. He been preparing for this all his young life. His mother's presence kept him calm, and he beheld her with absolute trust.

Tied around the sacrificial robes was the rope that held him fast; across his chest was Bhaal's symbol, the tears around the skull.

As she fought, she stared into her son's eyes. Now the time had come, her master was dead, slain in mortal form. The Time of Troubles claimed the lives of many gods and many more mortals. Sensing Bhaal's death, she sent out her call. The light had faded from her eyes before she had struck the flagstones.

Aria could not forget the calm, shock and hate in the boy's gaze. He looked at the man who had saved him, the man who had taken his mother. The man who she had called. While chaos and fighting continued all around, Gorion cut loose the bonds, and the child followed.


	7. Farewell Old Man

?-?-?-?

"I'm leaving. Don't try and stop me."

"You must learn to be patient, child."

The boy had grown into a young man. He was his mother's likeness, exact to the last hair. All that differed was his figure. Those same cool eyes locked onto Gorion's. In spite of his upbringing in Candlekeep and his exposure to others, he was not given to repeating himself or explaining.

"You are safe here, child. Why can't you see that?"

"There will be others. You only found one temple." Suppressed rage flashed and years of resentment spilled out. "You failed her, old man. She never loved you. For all your stories, don't think I don't remember. I am going to find her home, continue her work."

"I did the best I could, taught you what I know, but there is still more to teach–"

"And I will learn it for myself. I have her tomes. Or will you deny me those?" In his hand, he gripped the scroll, her last letter. "I know the truth. She left these things for me, not you."

"She left you in my care."

"She had no choice. After – I shouldn't be here. She should. I shouldn't exist."

"She loved you."

"It's because of me she's dead; it's because of me you killed her!"

Gorion raised his arms and reached for the youth's shoulders. "Calm yourself, child. She would not want you blaming yourself."

"I am going to – leave. I've read the prophecies."

"Would that I could spare you this. You cannot escape by running."

"I am not running."

"What will you do, child? Where will you go? You will be hunted. Or will you hunt them?"

"I am strong, stronger than you ever were at this age. My mother's blood runs strong in my veins."

Gorion sighed.

"Tell me, old man, if I hadn't known, would you have told me? You thought I had forgotten, was too young to remember her words. I remember all of them."

He pushed his hand through his thinning hair. "Only to spare you."

"Spare me? Ignorance is death; this is a house of knowledge. You would deny that from me even now."

"I have only limited you until you are able. You must learn patience!"

"And how will I know what I am capable of if I am never given the chance? The Art – it flows so easily, so naturally. Effortlessly. It's like weaving wind and whispering through water. It's poetry. I feel it around me, within me; it attunes to me. Each with its own melody. I can hear it, see it, touch it, feel it. Who are you to say what I am ready for?"

"Will you never forgive me for taking your mother? For saving you? It was her wish."

"She was winning; she would have overcome it. I could see it in her eyes. You never gave her a chance!"

"She told me to strike her down."

"So you say." Bitterness rang heavily, then he drew himself up. "Yes, old man, I forgive you, but you will never be my father, any more than you can be her. My father's dead. I intend to see it stays that way."

Another sigh passed Gorion's lips.

"And don't even think of coming with me or following me. I don't want you slowing me down. Maybe you should try looking after that girl you've brought in. The child. Don't think I don't suspect. If it were just one I might forgive it, but now there are two? You bring her in when you know I want to leave. I'm not blind, old man. You and your Harpers seek to control us, to manipulate us. To stop us from fulfilling the prophecy. You can't control us all. You should have killed me if you think the prophecy can't be thwarted; or did you think that you could nurture goodness inside me, that it would _balance_ the darkness? You cannot balance this."

"Your dreams are getting worse?" Concern etched his weathered brow.

"Worse, better, what does it matter? Tell your Harper friends to stay away from me; there are probably others watching them, and your pins will lead them straight to me."

Gorion exhaled through his nostrils.

"You can't achieve your vaunted balance in me."

"Are you such a slave to your own nature?"

"I am what I am; a monster. Maybe if I'm far enough away, I won't fall prey to it as quickly. Maybe they'll kill each other off and I'll be the only one left. Maybe I'll find some celestial who'll take pity on me and take me off this plane."

"You know we already considered that…"

"You can't make a decision, old man. We both know that. You tell all these tales, but you don't know what you want. You think you know yourself, but you don't know me."

"And you do?"

"Maybe, but that's what all those journeys of yours are about, aren't they? Self-discovery."

Gorion rubbed his temples.

"Well, I don't care what you do so long as you leave me alone. Just promise me one thing."

His guardian waited.

"Look after Immy. She doesn't deserve this. She deserves it even less than I do. Maybe I should take her with me, but she's just a kid. She'll be safer out of sight; nothing ever happens here, and if anyone suspects who I am, once I leave, they'll have no reason to suspect her. After all, no one'd be fool enough to bring _two_ of us here; we'd kill each other."

"Sometimes I wonder where your humour comes from." Gorion reached out and caught the young man's shoulder. "You'll always have a home here."

"So long as you're alive."

Gorion smiled wanly, and tightened his grip.

"Take care of yourself, old man."

"Be well, child."


	8. Present Day IV

Present Day

Aria shook her head. "I don't believe it. That was – him? He's so… so different to what I imagined. I don't understand. How could he… how could he leave me after all that?"

_"For the same reason he left Imoen. The same reason Aliana called Gorion to her."_

"But he… did he hate him?" She couldn't decide. It was like hearing an echo across time; different words, same intent. How often had she railed for the same reasons? "How could he know… suspect… knowing she would some day grow up to hunt him? There were guards and they probably would have killed him, but he could have poisoned her and slipped away."

_"Would you have killed her?"_

"No, of course not. But I'm not being hunted, not by them at least. All that finished with Saradush." Then it dawned. "It _did_ finish, didn't it? Whose left? That isn't what this is about… the throne… me… hells…"

The Solar maintained her vigil.

* * *

Neverwinter. Aria instantly recognised the city; descriptions of the old quarters and paintings from before it was rebuilt materialised in her mind, perfectly matching the streets that lay before her as the grey mists turned to stone, wood and filth. Smoke rose from dozens of buildings, and wailing filled the air. Shrouded corpses were stacked in piles, the carts laden with the stricken and not enough of the living left to lug away the fallen.

She remembered the tales of those days. The 'Wailing Death'.

Aliana's son strode through the streets towards the Academy.

_"Why would he venture here?" _

His eyes locked with a woman's. Sheathed in half plate, the symbol of Tyr suspended around her neck, lines marred her brow. Determined. Such strength. Her features betrayed an elfin heritage; elegantly tipped ears, but slighter, rounder than a true elf's. Carved cheeks, strong mouth; jaw-line set grimly. Broader shoulders, thighs, flaming hair. A half-breed. The paladin Aribeth de Tylmarande.

Admiration…?

"Aalin." He must have shed his name in favour of this. Her voice was rich, confident, wearied.

"My lady."

She managed a wan smile.

The scene shifted again.

The Academy was under attack. Magic splayed, dancing from his fingers, arcing into the masked assailants. Between the flash of the half elf's blade, Aalin's targets exploded into clouds of light. Her sword held the same symbol as her pendant. There were four of them. Led by a mage, more attackers ran through the complex, slaughtering the students and tutors alike; all those who would serve Neverwinter.

The two fought back to back, his magic, her sword.

Aria gripped her hands.

Rallying the survivors, they pushed their foes back. The pungent stench of components lay heavy about Aalin, sulphur and fire beetles especially.

Finally, the smoke cleared, and they were left alone with the wounded and dying.

"Now we track them to their source." Aalin commented grimly, pushing his bloodied hand across his brow.

"After we tend to our own." She corrected, ignoring her own cuts.

"I fear I will be of little use in that." He allowed a faint smile to touch his wan features. "My lady paladin."

"Aribeth." Marching to a storeroom, Aribeth thrust bandages and towels into his hands.

Aalin tipped his head.

Later, a cleric, the traitor Fenthick Moss, Aria noted, rushed over to them. Sometime after, they were joined by the false Helmite Desther. As the latter argued over the correct course to combat the plague, Aalin left the discussion. Magic was unable to prevent the plague from spreading, only halting it temporarily. With the priests engaged in tending the sick, and the city under quarantine, Aalin sought his own path. Insisting Fenthick raise the dead mage's spirit, the cleric after first hesitating, finally did as bade. Questioning was in short order; for Fenthick could not hold the baleful spirit for long.

Quitting the Academy, Aalin sidestepped the greycloak guards and headed into the night.


	9. Elves Don't Dream

?-?-?-?

Aalin lay on his bedroll in a former store cupboard, arm across his eyes. His bloodied robes hung discarded on a nail, his cloak covering him. Shelves, several broken, hung at odd angles, and a few retained empty bottles and a small crate. A barrel in the corner held the stub of a candle, and his satchel served as a pillow. Most of the Hall of Justice's floor was taken up by the stricken and dying.

Aribeth entered the room. The smell of her armour brought him to before her light tread ever could. Aria observed that he could feel Aribeth's eyes on him without ever shifting a muscle.

"It's done."

He squinted up at her through the crook of his arm, nodded and closed his eyes.

The ghost of a smile flickered across her lips.

"I'll be there."

"Be there in an hour. Lord Nasher will want to see you when it's all over."

He allowed the faintest of sighs. He felt her still, her paladin's calm and elfin grace. Hearing the silence, just as she felt his. It was the unvoiced argument they shared. Four components, from four creatures, believed to hold the cure. Brought in from Waterdeep, held in the Academy vaults; freed by the attackers, scattering into the night, somehow, the creatures' enchanted bonds had been overcome. His expression said it all: in his mind, it seemed far too convenient and the assault too surgical to be coincidental; the mage's spirit, though cagy, had reluctantly accepted serving another. Aribeth had been tasked with their retrieval, and acting on his own, Aalin had gone hunting. Flashes and visions showed Aria all she needed to see: the city guard maintaining the quarantine, the sellswords, thugs and city prison. Desther's Helmites. The creatures had not got far.

"Fenthick–"

"Is being a fool." She finished curtly. "You don't need to hide it."

"It isn't at all odd that the Helmites' faith is great enough that they're the only devotees not falling ill. Aside from yourself and Fenthick, of course."

Aribeth looked at him sharply, then smiled tiredly. There was a moment of quiet. "Dreams bothering you again?"

"We both know elves don't dream."

"For an elf who claims not to dream–" She held herself straight. "Keep your secrets, Aalin. We can discuss the nature of your dreams once this is done."

He didn't suggest that none of them might be around long enough.

"You should think about a reward for your services. Nasher will want to know."

He lifted his head.

She squared herself, her own return look level.

The other unspoken dispute was her engagement to Fenthick.

Turning on her heel, she took two steps towards the doorway. Then she glanced over her shoulder as his head sank down.

Aalin had asked for nothing.

The mists gathered.


	10. Reflection

?-?-?-?

Desther was dead, executed. Fenthick swung from a thick bough, far from the stake. His crime; guilt from negligence, not association. For chasing after his former ally as he sought to recover the cure. Aalin had followed, as Aribeth cut down the false Helmites.

The mists revealed a grim scene. Helm's Hold, the real Helmites dead, replaced by Desther's cult. Though few in number, seven at most, Fenthick was seized, and the magical seals enacted with the close of the portal. Under the shroud of spellcraft, invisible to the senses, Aalin sped through the gateway as Fenthick was surrounded. Safe within the inner sanctum, converted to the worship of another, Desther prepared to finish corrupting the cure. The man stopped and set the cauldron aside, turning slowly.

"I sense your presence, elf."

Aalin's magic flared; lightning rippled, cracking against Desther's wards, against the alter, striking the idol. The chamber's wards activated, sealing the room. Desther screamed as the idol shook, set ablaze. Without pause, spell after spell burst forwards from Aalin in an unyielding barrage, the final arc smashing the alter as the false Helmites rushed the sealed sanctum doors. A single fireball flooded the corridor they crowded in, leaving only dust.

Within moments, Aribeth and the Neverwinter forces broke through the outer wards.

"Was it worth it? A cockatrice, dryad, intellect devourer, and a yuan-ti." Aalin stared at Fenthick's form, still swaying in the wind. Nasher had denied him his prize: Fenthick's life. The city was saved from plague, but not its own bloodlust.

"What now?" The unvoiced question on both their lips was the one he uttered. Any surviving cultists would be tracked down, interrogated. Desther wasn't working alone; under the idol's facade lay no known god, but a bipedal reptile. Helm's Hold had been thoroughly searched, and several artefacts had turned up, including Desther's so-called 'Black Grimoire', the tome employed to employ the false Helmites' dark arts. Even with the cure, Neverwinter was left weak.

Aribeth shook her head. She hadn't allowed herself to shed any tears. Her jaw clenched.

Aalin's smile was slight, mirthless. "Where else will I go?"

For the first time since Nasher's judgement, she allowed the briefest of smiles.


	11. Cause and Effect

?-?-?-?

Aalin's dreams continued to darken. His were not the only ones shrouded in shadow. The mists revealed that as the pair continued their hunt, joined by Neverwinter's spymaster Aarin Gend, each experienced a different voice. As his destiny manifested, Aalin's power grew, each night taunted by a steadily growing voice. Aware of what he was, he fought the taint, suppressing it and drawing solace from the paladin's grace.

Unwilling to allow an academy recruit to rise without notice, Nasher created a 'hero' for his city, an instrument for hope, instructing Aribeth to accept the Aalin into her service, her 'squire'. As a knight of Neverwinter, she stood as his patron, entitling him to a position at court. As a squire, certain requirements were expected, but these were waved under the more pressing need. Yet in the calm between Gend's agents' reports, she schooled her 'squire' in matters of court, including the use of a sword.

As the days drew on, Aribeth's own nightmares found a different voice taunting her, luring her. Scrying with the Heartstone gem unveiled the source: the bipedal reptile behind Desther, Maugrim. Appealing to her god, and shrouded in his strength, she stood strong. For a time, they believed the dreams broken; that she was herself again. The whispers, she said, had stilled. Yet in her heart, her grief and anguish despaired and Maugrim became its voice. Gend was kept unaware of her dreams for fear she would be recalled. Justice, she stated, was what drove her; not revenge. It was their duty to honour Fenthick, to set his tormented spirit to rest.

Aalin kept his vigil of silence, and found himself approached by those who sought to use his newfound favour to their own advantage. After a conversation with Gend, it did not take long until Aalin began using his position to further his connections with those who traded in 'salvaging' the burnt out regions of the city. The deal struck was simple: Gend's contacts would grow as Aalin passed on names from those in his employ, and in turn, he would have access to whatever was recovered in aid of their effort. Gend would approach the salvagers at some point, and those that refused would find themselves strung up for looting.

As Maugrim's grip grew stronger, Gend's agents confirmed Aalin's scrying: Maugrim had infiltrated Luskan's Host Tower. Revealing Maugrim's nature to the Luskans through means of a false trail, Gend believed had given his foes the reason they needed to unite and drive the lizard from the Host Tower.

One night, Aribeth left.


	12. Loyalty, Love

?-?-?-?

_They call themselves the 'Old Ones', led by a Saurian Queen, Morag. Our sages say the Saurians are one of the five 'Creator Races', progenitors of the Scaled Ones; lizardfolk, yuan-ti and the like._ Gend report documented, as Aalin prepared to find his patron.

Aribeth led a Luskan horde against Neverwinter's beleaguered greycloaks, driven mad by Maugrim's voice. Maugrim had not been driven out, but left of his own accord. While Gend's agents searched for traces of the cultists, Maugrim's own agents had scoured ancient sites. Buried beneath far inside hills abandoned and claimed by other species, their contents forgotten, Maugrim found what he sought. With the stones relics in hand, scribed with the words that would free his mistress Morag and the rest of their kind.

The scene became a vision of the 'Source Stone', the site of the Old Ones' hibernation. When the lands became cold, Morag had sealed herself and her people within, awaiting the day they would awake and warm the world again.

Aria studied the Solar for a long moment, then turned her eyes back to the mists. The Solar offered no reaction.

Aalin's face was bleak, broken. Aria did not need to the mists to show the moments between the retreat to Neverwinter, the news of the Luskan host advancing, the darkness in his nights. It was written across his eyes; she could feel the taint's silent urging, its hunger. War and chaos followed wherever he went; he could flee as far as he wanted, but he would never shake off the shadow of destiny.

The siege had been going for days. What was left of Neverwinter's forces had routed, retreating to make a final stand. Maugrim had established a perimeter, preparing to torch the city and clear the way. The Luskans had other ideas and burst through the city walls in teams, encountering pockets of resistance. The street-to-street fighting had worsened, and Aribeth herself had taken up residence, her forces readying to take Castle Never.

The vision revealed that the Source Stone lay deep beneath the fortress.

Stalking the broken streets, invisible to the eye, Aalin stood at the estate Gend's agents claimed was Aribeth's stronghold. Maugrim was nowhere in sight. Gangs ran wild and houses burned, even as the siege engines were moved further into the city. Stepping past the barricades and few guards, Aalin entered the house.

It was small, its entrance hall narrow, opening to a smooth domed plaza. Aribeth stood waiting, sword in hand. Behind her lay a doorway.

Aria reached through the doorway; it led to a shaft, dug down through the old sewer system and beyond. She turned back.

Aalin dropped his shroud, his stare lifting into the half elf's empty gaze. Then those same eyes flared to life, wrath, hate and grief heavy within them. No taunts were exchanged; he stood without steel, simply watching.

Finally, Aribeth spoke. "Did Nasher send you, or did you come here on your own?" She did not quite add the word 'assassin'.

"I'm not here to fight." All the weariness of the past few months hit him in a rush, even as the taint within him grew hungrier, more desperate. It revelled in the bloodshed, the slaughter. Its anger at his rejection, his pacifism grew, silently demanding he partake in this feast.

She watched, fury rising behind her unblinking gaze. Calm no longer radiated from her, the blessings of her god stripped away. In its place, he could feel Morag's power, the same power he felt from the alter Desther worshipped at. Desther was nothing more than a pawn to be sacrificed, just as the Luskans outside were flesh to be speared.

"You are still my knight." He allowed quietly.

Mirthless humour gripped her, the absurdity of his statement almost too much. It almost unleashed the tirade that she had held inside since Fenthick.

"I have not betrayed you."

Her grip tightened, her sword's emblem a mockery. Its hilt held Neverwinter's sigil; an eye, with three beads on its under-lid, two arcs on its upper, like horns.

"Call, and I will answer."

"You were pressed into service." The words grated, each biting. "Do you think I'll spare you? You're a fool."

He knelt, first one knee, then both. She remained unmoved. Slowly, he opened his robes, revealing his chest. Within, the taint was screaming.

Aria's breath caught.

"Maugrim has betrayed you." Carefully, he chose each word, breathing softly between sentences, as he voiced the unspoken. "Nasher has betrayed you. You are not here for justice. Avenge yourself, then."

Her gauntlets creaked audibly.

"I failed Fenthick. We all did. I failed you." Aalin continued unflinchingly.

She stepped forwards, slowly, sword low. "Are you here to speak to me of love? That I'll – embrace you?"

"You're not the only one with dreams." He allowed a small smile. "Shall we speak of dreams now?"

Aribeth froze, a flicker of her former softness shining, a shadow of memory. "Speak then."

"Darkness. A voice whispering. Daggers of bone piercing the spirits of my foes. Tears falling, circling a skull."

Her frown caught on his gaze; losing focus, he grew distant, as if speaking from another place, another time.

"Shadow covers it; it thinks I can't see the skull, its malice. Pinpricks for eyes, crimson, hateful. It demands blood. Carnage. It promises power. All I need do is kill. It loves murder."

His eyes snapped back, fixing on hers. "It can never be sated. Every night I hear it, dark promises, of all I could want. Even you. All I need do is reach out my hand… and seize what is mine, what is rightfully mine. I feel its fire in my veins, the bloodlust, I hear the blood of others crying out in terror; I feel the heat rise with their fear, the thrill, the exhilaration. This city is as nothing; dust before me. Flesh is nothing; even creatures magical and mythical are far below me. All I need to is kill. It is my birthright, my destiny; I am Murder's legacy."

Features troubled, hoarseness broke her words. "How do you resist…?"

His smile was sorrow filled, not quite forlorn. "'Do not speak to me of love'; your words." He lifted his gaze. "It's written across you."

She stared, then pulled herself away.

"End it; you would be sparing the realms a great evil."

"Leave." In place of confidence, uncertainty gripped her. "Leave!" She repeated, more strongly. "Get out!"

"If we die to this accursed city, we'll die together."

Aria's throat caught again, in spite of the melodrama.

The ghost of his smile hung across his eyes. "Vengeance gripped you, drove you. Tyr found you; called you, claimed you. Murder drives me. I am damned, doomed to spread chaos, to bring grief to all those around me. Even now, others begin to stir. I watched my mother die, cut down by the man who raised me, her apprentice. I lived with that until I made my own choice; to leave, to journey here, to try to escape my fate, but there is no escape, nowhere I can run, nowhere I can hide. In all of this," Slowly, so slowly, his hand reached and touched her gauntlet. "You have been my solace, my peace, not Tyr's grace, but you. For those few moments, the nightmare disappears. For a moment, I can believe, hope. When you look at me, I see what I could have been had things been different. I see… me."

She choked.

"End it." Gently, he pulled the sword towards him, his eyes unblinking. "Not for this city, or for the realms, for you."

The question filled her eyes.

The sad smile echoed in his voice, far from his gaze. "When you face your god, you will have slain a greater evil than yourself." He took the blade between his thumb and fingers and placed the point against his heart. "If I kill you, I will only be feeding my nature, furthering Nasher's betrayal. If we flee, we will be hunted and death will stalk our wake. They will never let you live, even if we kill Maugrim, even if we claim to have lured him and the Luskans into this trap." His hand tightened around the cold metal. "There is no other way. I… will not live without you."

The sword fell from her hand with a clatter.


	13. Present Day V

Present Day

Aria touched her cheek. "How? How could he love her so?"

The Solar offered no answer.

The mists shifted again


	14. The Source

?-?-?-?

The crossbow bolt exploded. Barely turning to glance, lightning flew from Aalin's fingers, his eyes white with magic. A fragment of amber dissolved against the fur of his glove and the acrid stench of charred flesh filled the air. Arcing against the bolt, the magic tore through the Luskan and his fellow guardsman. Aribeth shoved Aalin to the floor, ducking to snatch up her sword. Hefting it high, she twisted, poised to bring it to bear.

Half folded on the flagstones, her squire gazed up at her.

She extended her left hand.

The question was in his eyes.

Her answer was unspoken, resolute. It was the look of one who had embraced her fate.

"Maugrim first?"

Rather than trust her voice, she issued a curt nod, then turned on her heel. Tugging his robes back together, he followed.

Aria sighed._ "I thought…"_

_"Look."_

A faint glow pulsed from crystals in the walls. At the bottom of the shaft, in a cavern hewn from ancient rock, the former paladin stood a half step in front; Aalin's murmurs energised the air around them. Closing his eyes, he reached out his hand and held her pauldron. "His grip will be strong. I can feel her. Morag. She's nearby. The others are waking."

"I may fall…"

"No." The ghostly smile etched his lips, and he placed his hand on her heart. "Trust – in me. Have faith. Believe."

She looked at him, then stared.

The power rushed through him from deep within. His voice changed, deeper, older. A second edged it. Wordless volume resounded; murder. Slaughter. Faltering, he fought it down, holding onto her, drawing his strength, his calm. Her arm reached to grip his. He shook his head.

She didn't need to ask.

"Its gift." He let out a deep breath. "The cost – if we fail. If I fall…"

A slight nod. Then she stepped forwards.

Somewhere, they felt Morag hiss.

Maugrim stood at the entrance to the Source Stone. Across the threshold, his queen awaited. In his claws, he had the stones needed to unlock the seal. His voice rose and fell in a low chant. Two of the stones' script were glowing red.

Lightning blazed through the tunnel, most of it absorbed by the threshold. Two arcs struck Maugrim; the lizard's body flared white, but he kept on chanting. Aribeth charged; sword levelled, she struck at her tormentor and in that instant, Aalin unleashed another spell. The world exploded.

Aria stared in disbelief as Aribeth's sword slid into Maugrim as he finished his chant; the last stone glowed red, and they were pulled into Morag's realm.

* * *

The portal was open. Waiting for them was Morag, and behind her an army of lizardfolk. Morag was tall, green, an alien beauty to her matched only by the cold cruelty in her eyes.

"You do not–" She hissed. "Godssspawn. I can taste it on your breath. You are weak. A ssssshadow."

Behind them the portal gaped, the cavern behind ready to receive the host.

_"Now would be the time."_ Aria murmured, adding inwardly, _if he had anything to get them out of there_.

Her power was not fully awoken; she was as sluggish as the rest of her kind, Aalin's senses observed. His magic was useless; there were far too many of them. From the corner of his eye, he spied and held Aribeth's gaze. Almost indeterminably, she nodded; the Black Grimoire offered power for a cost too great for a paladin to consider. His hand reached to the gem tucked inside his robes.

Unthinkingly, Aria reached for the same stone.

Neverwinter's scavengers had uncovered many gems; the Grimoire described the steps in forming a phylactery. To give his will over to the taint, all it would cost was his soul. The monster inside him raged, demanding to be let out. Hesitation would mean losing everything.

"Ssserve us, spawnling." Morag offered, extending a claw. "You cannot hope to defeat us. The lesser races ssshould serve, but you shall have a place of honour."

There was another way. His mother's teachings, the words she left for him. He could feel her thoughts in the gem. A deal with a devil…

"Belhifet." His voice was stern, commanding. Forbidden knowledge. There was no turning back. No wards, no summoning circles. Just his will alone. Will and what lay beneath. His heritage; his birthright. No longer on the material plane, belief could shape surroundings. A demigod's will. "Belhifet! An – army – for Baator. Your – price. A debt – paid. Belhifet! _I summon you!_"

"No!" Aribeth cried, calling out to her former god. She began chanting; Morag screamed her defiance and her horde surged forwards. A portal began to form; beyond it, the ice mountains of Cania were visible and the bitter soul-chilling cold was felt.

"My soul – is my own." He couldn't stop the upwards rush, the sheer fury at the loss of the slain; a feast before it. Racing, roaring, taint seized control.

Aribeth screamed.

Bhaal's avatar appeared in Aalin's place. "MY SOULS."

* * *

_"Stop."_ Aria held up her hand, and stared at the Solar. _"How is this possible? What _is_ that thing?"_

_"That is the Slayer. One of Bhaal's avatars. There are others; the Ravager and Kazgoroth."_

_"I find it hard to believe he summoned Belhifet. On the planes… if belief is strong enough, but here?"_

_"You underestimate the power of a godchild. Belhifet answered because he wished to be summoned."_

The mists parted.


	15. For Neverwinter

?-?-?-?

Somehow, they had escaped. Escaped as Morag was dragged down, drawn into Cania's portal, her arm torn from her by the Slayer, Aribeth's sword piercing her cold heart. In death, the devils did not release their grasp but pulled Maugrim's queen further in, the sword still sheathed in her flesh. With her last breath, the Source Stone began to collapse. Ranks of lizardfolk tumbled through into the icy wastes of the eighth layer of the nine hells.

The Slayer screamed in fury, still slashing at all those who were close. With her plea to Tyr, Aribeth struck the Slayer across the back of the head, locked her arms through his, and threw them from the collapsing realm. They broke the threshold in time to see the Source Stone absorbed by Cania.

Through the mist, Belhifet's blue-skinned form could be seen distantly, his arms folded as he floated.

The next vision showed Aribeth standing over the fallen Slayer; it faded to reveal Aalin, and her eyes were hard. Nothing was uttered aloud. After several moments, he rose and dusted himself down. Then they began the long ascent to where the Luskan forces still surrounded Castle Never and the last ring of fortification.

It was as if they had entered another world; flopping down on the cold, firm stone floor, Aalin considered the door ahead. The choice was a simple one. Break through the Luskans, rally the Neverwinter arms and attempt to rout the invaders, join with the invaders and take final revenge upon Nasher and all those who had failed Fenthick, or leave.

Aribeth's eyes were troubled.

"Your master." He knew the answer. It meant her death. Taking a breath, he held out his hand, then smiled slightly. "Better find you a sword."

Faint amusement passed her gaze, and then she set forward.

The Luskan advance broke before them; they had not expected to be ambushed by their leader, or that their catapult would be captured. Turning its enchanted munitions against another of the five siege engines, it destroyed two before the remaining two turned their might against it. By that time, Aalin and Aribeth had already struck out for the next position.

"Rebels have taken two of our catapults. Destroy it." Aalin pointed towards the last position. Seeing their leader, the Luskans obeyed; as soon as the catapult went up in flames, Aribeth turned her sword on the crew and Aalin set the final piece ablaze. Fighting a guerrilla war, they ambushed five more patrols in street-to-street fighting before finally breaking through to the Neverwinter line. Holding up his hand, Aalin passed through the ranks, Aribeth in his custody.

Seeking out Gend, he informed them the catapult positions were destroyed and Aribeth had been under Maugrim's control. Since Maugrim was dead, there was no risk of her reverting. Without a leader, the Luskans were roaming the city in packs, and could be hunted down as such. If they struck now, Aalin insinuated, they could retake the city.

A counter-attack was already being prepared, and Neverwinter greycloaks from Old Owl Well and Fort Locke were already on their way. With the two forces, a hammer and anvil would be formed and their foe would be crushed if they didn't retreat. Seeing their former leader leading the charge against them might demoralise the Luskans enough to rout but there was enough resentment that Aribeth should be killed for her betrayal that Nasher considered locking her up.

"Better to die in battle than as a traitor." Aalin looked Gend in the eye. "My life, forfeit for hers, if she betrays this trust. We need every sword we can muster."

Gend's expression was troubled, and as conflict warred within him, he inclined his head.

Outside, to the surviving greycloaks manning the barricade and those formed up into squads, Aalin addressed them simply.

"The Host Tower is full of magecraft, many capable of deceit and trickery. Some have the power to overcome the will, preying on the mind of even the strongest wills. If it were you who were held captive, a prisoner of your own mind, would you not seek to avenge those who had fallen because of your body used as a puppet by a mage? That mage is dead, slain by my hand, and this, your champion, the greatest of us, was overcome by foul, dark sorcery. The plague has weakened us, and wearied our resolve, but we are not overcome. Look around you. Those who serve the Host Tower walk between our homes, but they are trapped within our walls. They are like rats within a gutter, and like rats, must be driven out. They loot and ravage our lands, desecrate our temples, and think we are defeated. We are not!

"Now, we shall redeem ourselves and our city. Lift your swords, and raise up your shields. Think of your brothers, your sisters, your daughters, your mothers, your fathers, your fallen. Let us wash the streets with Luskan blood and show the Host Tower the fate that befalls all who invade our city! We shall turn back the Luskan menace and a hundred years from now, they will still sing of this day. Greycloaks! My brothers, my sisters, leave none alive. For Neverwinter!"


	16. Wrath and Restraint

?-?-?-?

_"Not the most rousing speech I've heard." _Aria eyed Aalin. _"He doesn't believe it, does he? I can feel it. He's offering hope by stirring their anger… but it's only for her. To turn their minds… It isn't going to work. He knows it will fail."_

The Solar declined from commenting.

* * *

Aribeth stood before Nasher, the Hall of Justice shattered by multiple catapult fire. In its ruins, he delayed judgement, confining her until the city was rebuilt and everything could be assessed. There would be a price to pay for falling to Maugrim's might, and judgement must be carefully measured, weighed and dealt. Guilt would be determined by willingness, and the gods would decide her innocence.

As the people began to rebuild, the murmurs grew angry and the mob sought someone to blame. Never knowing, nor believing how close they came to being overrun by Morag and her ilk, the city did not believe Maugrim's body destroyed was enough; they wanted a visible demonstration of justice, to restore their faith in the law, to dispel their own helplessness, to deny they had ever come as close as they had to total destruction.

The greycloaks from Forte Locke and Old Owl Well were hailed as the saviours of Neverwinter, not the counter-attack led by Aalin and Aribeth. Their role was overlooked in the greater scheme of things, and politics shaped justice as it had before with Fenthick.

Aribeth was placed under strict confinement within the tower of Castle Never. Instead of letting her rot in the castle's bowels, Nasher wanted her to see the city she had come so close to destroying. Each day, she prayed, fasted, slept, and finally brought herself to weep over Fenthick and her city. The clerics, those that survived, determined her willingness in Maugrim's control was there, but the amount brought on by manipulation over Fenthick's loss was hard to determine.

While Nasher deliberated and debated, Aalin visited his former patron daily. Petitioning Nasher did no good, and most of those involved simply wished to forget anything had ever happened. Heavily warded and shielded by many incantations, Aribeth's cell was almost impregnable by most practitioners of the Art. Even had it been breeched, the former paladin refused to leave, just as she refused to demand a trial by combat. Skill at arms would convince no one of her innocence, her least of all.

As the days drew on, Aalin found himself on the cold stone floor beside her, unable to hold the dreams at bay unless within her gaze. Peace still eluded him, but his rest was less fitful, the taint's grip less strong. Still haunted by what he had become, the Baatezu he had summoned, his choices weighed heavy on his soul. Aribeth's silent presence and the knowledge of what would have broken out across the north, that his mother's deeds would have been for nothing did little to sway his guilt. Her acceptance and his of hers gradually grew into something more.

Eventually a decision was reached. Refusing to commute the sentence, Nasher chose to rid Neverwinter of the inconvenience Aribeth presented. Her condition spared her the rope until their child was born, but it bought them only a few short tendays together. After laying eyes on her daughter, she was taken to the same spot as Fenthick, and with the peace that the knowledge of final release brought, she drew her last breath.

Gathering their daughter, and Aribeth's few possessions, Aalin left the city, vowing never to return.

The taint urged him to raze the city to its foundations. Only his promise to Aribeth not to take revenge stayed his hand. The oath did not carry to their babe, he thought grimly until Aribeth touched his hand. Her god had not taken her back, but as they looked at their daughter together and her eyes lifted, Aalin saw where she placed her belief.


	17. Present Day: Reflection

Present Day

Aria stared, her eyes welling up. "I never knew. I didn't – his face. His pain. Gods… and her… she asked him not to avenge her." Rounding on the Solar, she glared up at her. "It wasn't right. Why didn't Tyr take her back? Why did she still get the rope? After that – is this your justice? Is this how you'll judge me?"

The mists began to swirl.


	18. Beginnings

Beginnings

Her name was Shayla. 'Esmerelle' was the name she chose for Aribeth; the name her daughter would know her as. A traitor's name would only endanger her. Shayla knew Aribeth from before her convention to Tyr; her family's caravan ambushed by orcs, and the orcs laid to waste by a huntress and her sword. Aribeth had saved members of three families that day, though she was severely wounded, and the village they belonged to saved her in turn, nursing her back to health. After that, Aribeth continued her vendetta against orcs, never shedding enough blood to make up for her own village, despite having massacred those responsible long ago.

Aribeth had once told him how she was caught in a sudden blizzard, and saved by the avatar of Tyr, who carried her to a monastery of Ilmater, where she learned the skills needed to serve as a paladin. When she moved to Neverwinter, her fame had grown enough that Nasher appointed her as one of his elite bodyguards, and in the temple of Tyr, she met Fenthick and the two quickly fell in love.

None of that mattered now, Aalin reflected grimly, as he prepared Aribeth's things as his own mother had done for her. Their daughter would never know peace once he was recognised, and for being squire to Aribeth, he had fallen out of favour with the court. Many thought he should have slain Aribeth when he had the chance, and since he did not, and still visited her, he too, must be a traitor.

That, of course, was aside from his own heritage and the hunters it would bring. There were many Harpers in Neverwinter before Luskan's invasion, and while most of them had gone to ground or been slain, there were still those who had their eye on him, he was certain. He still had contacts of his own, and after this, he needed to disappear.

Shayla was absent from the intrigues and city mob. She remembered the half elf who had saved her and part of her family, and Aribeth's last wish was their daughter should be cared for, and safe.

Cradling his daughter in his arms, he gently handed her over, unable to tear his eyes away. Finally, he raised them enough to meet Shayla's. Words escaped him, and the cloak he was once wrapped in now saw his daughter nestled inside. Carefully, he placed her mother's ring into her hand, Aribeth's final reminder of the home she once had and lost to orcs all those years ago, and kissed her.

"Ariana."

The small face wrinkled, but looked up at him. It wasn't quite elfin, possessing the softer characteristics of her mother; slightly rounder, chubbier, she seemed content for a moment, then bawled in hunger. The taint urged him to slay her, but he shoved it down so deep he couldn't think of anything else than his daughter and her mother.

Shayla gently relieved the bundle from him. Aliana's armour, formerly Ilmadia's, the shield, and badge, the gloves, scarf and boots, tomes of arcane lore, a sealed jar, and finally, he placed the necklace holding the gem with Aliana's whispers around his daughter's neck.

He turned to Daeghun, a quiet woodsman elf. No words were exchanged, none were needed. Turning back, he kissed his daughter's cheek, glanced up at Shayla and left.


	19. Journey

Journey

Before they condemned her lifeless body to the pyre, he had taken a lock of her hair; he had already claimed her sword. Now he stood on the edge of the desert. Rumours had begun to circulate about an economic crisis along the Sword Coast, a plague that devoured iron. His travels had led him from Neverwinter to the Hand of the Seldarine. The fortress was in ruins, uninhabited, the wards Aliana had left after slaying Isair and Madae still in place.

For a time, he had made the library in Larrel's tower home. Placing the lock of Aribeth's hair in a gem and sealing it, he alternated his days scouring for a way to return her to life through the tomes, and scrying with the heartstone gem. Ilmadia had been raised, but her body was intact and her spirit was not cursed. Breaking the curse was harder than finding a priest willing to petition his or her deity to raise Aribeth. The Black Grimoire offered interesting suggestions, and with the Baelnorn Larrel gone, there was little in the library to aid in the Dark Arts that was tolerated by the celestial realms and their denizens. Under the Grimoire's guidance, he set about constructing a phylactery and preparing an altered geas. A subject willing to accept the geas, but willing after their will bowed beneath his; a subject willing to serve… for a price, even if that price was continued life.

The geas he cast upon the taint. Without Aribeth, the dreams had become worse, and his powers had developed. Seeking to entrap the taint, he prepared a phylactery for his own soul, and played his hand. His bargain was simple: the taint would fall silent, or he would end his own existence. The geas and the wards he subsequently placed around it would wrack whatever of Bhaal was left whenever it went against him. The taint was infuriated, but its demands fell to murmurs. Uncertain of how long the geas could hold, or its effect, Aalin resumed his own quest of finding a way to revive his lover. While taint promised him the power to revive her, Aalin did not trust it. Instead, he prepared a second phylactery, ready to house her soul when he found her.

The Grimoire taught him some of the necromantic arts he required, but even with such dark magic at his command, he could not contact her spirit. Even the divine power within him failed to augment his incantations. Not desperate enough to attempt to summon the denizens of the infernal planes, especially Belhifet, he used the heartstone to scry for the final components he needed to complete the phylacteries. The Grimoire's knowledge was limited, and its dark voice whispered into his mind, offering trades, bargains, pacts. Aalin cast a second geas, this time upon the Grimoire, silencing it.

The heartstone revealed the knowledge he needed lay within Anauroch, the Great Sand Sea, where the Netherese Empire once stood. The arcane lore that lay beneath the desert sands would enable him to finish the phylacteries. His chosen vessel? The heartstone gem.

The desert sands were scorching under the sun. Alone and unfazed, Aalin's wards held strong, shielding him against the elements. Driven by grief and determination, he pressed forwards. After numerous days, the heartstone led him to the ruins of Undrentide, a city that once soared within the clouds. Now all but a fraction of it lay buried beneath the sand.

Within the ruins, an Asabi merchant, Ashtara, had set up camp and his expedition consisted of slaves. Ensnared with magical collars, Ashtara had procured them at market, he claimed. His dilemma was a simple one: golems, guardians of the city, blocked his path. Recognising the mutual profit of working together, Ashtara proposed a deal: help in dealing with the golems in exchange for a share of anything they recovered. Ashtara bragged he had a vast number of contacts, and anything could be acquired for a price. More caravans would arrive bearing more slaves and guards, and potentially rivals, so Ashtara wanted a head start. Any progress Aalin could make would increase the expedition's profit; each hour cost time, each day, provisions.

Agreeing, Aalin headed inside the ruins.


	20. Undrentide

Undrentide

Under his magical shroud, Aalin bypassed the golems, identifying their activation wards. Some of the golems were maintainers and others guardians. A series of pressure plates and levers saw the golems working constantly. Ashtara's ventures had awoken many and parts of the city stirred with the Netherese constructs for the first time in countless years.

Utilising the heartstone from a quiet alcove, Aalin traversed the excavated stone corridors and caved in passageways, sometimes waiting hours for the golems to clear the rubble, and headed towards the golems' maintenance lab. Setting wards on the door in case Ashtara thought to follow, Aalin began transcribing Ancient Netherese into a tongue he could decipher and control. Years of study at Candlekeep had provided a many fragments of draconic script, and the knowledge of Netheril's rise and fall. The incantation that rose and fell from his lips illuminated the engravings and runes of light overlaid them. Two days later, he had a working knowledge of the golems' activity, and within the tenday, their construction. It did not take long to reprogram the golems with the existing equipment; a simple matter of redirecting their commands. Ordering the golems to scour the sunken city for working golem control mechanisms, he considered the passageways that were flooded with sand.

Aria sat as the mists documented his progress. Crossing her knees, she set the silver sword in her lap and gracelessly sunk her face into her hands, elbows pressing against her knees. In spite of her pose, she watched attentively as Aalin scribed notes and gathered materials. The artefacts included an 'attractor', 'binder', 'control rod', 'replication rod', an 'activator' for a machine, a seal, a golem-maker's ring, power sources, and a tome of enhancements. The golems also supplied various tomes. Soon a growing pile amassed itself at his feet, including two bowls, a stone and a censer, all for commanding elementals, a 'deck of hazards' and a mirror with a dark face.

Pinning a note to one of the golems, Aalin delivered his assurances the ruins were safer now, but there were many traps that hadn't been deactivated. If Ashtara was willing to wait, the golems, now under Aalin's sway, would clear the way. The golems would deliver Undrentide's treasure to the encampment; the slaves could sort through it. Further losses would be eliminated. He would stay in the control chamber and direct the golems.

Ashtara delivered his answer in an impatient hand. _Deliver the goods._

The golem returned with the slaves who had fallen foul of the guardians. While the rest of his workforce began to excavate the upper levels of city, Aalin studied the slave collars. These, too, he pocketed. Many of the golems remained buried under the surface, and many more were damaged. Repairing them would take time. Issuing orders to retrieve the materials needed to complete the phylacteries, he realised he had not eaten in many days. Shrugging it off, he returned his attention to unlocking the mysteries of Undrentide and finding a way to reach Aribeth.


	21. Undrentide II

Undrentide II

The city began to shake. Indeterminably at first, then more pronounced. The heartstone revealed the source; a hooded sorceress. In the centre of the upper levels, buried beneath the sand was a chamber. In its centre was a crystal, and discarded artefacts were strewn around it; a mummified hand, a mask, and what looked to be a dragon's tooth. Just beyond the chamber, several more hooded figures stood guard, and beyond those, armoured gnolls.

The crystal glowed and the hooded sorceress' chant rose and fell. The vision dissolved, and Aalin gripped his head as pain shot through. The heartstone was blind; all around, the throes of magic coursed through the air, vibrations pulsating in tune with the rising city.

More than one golem fell from the tunnels as centuries of dust and sand were shed in a vast torrent. The mists depicted the flow as if a thousand waterfalls seeped and gushed out of the recesses and crevices. Giant spiders shrieked and scuttled as they were caught, cast out into the sunlight. Other less savoury inhabitants were also swept out. Ashtara and his slaves fled.

With a silent groan, Aalin muttered that he would never trust the word of a slaver; a slaver who claimed the city was empty beyond the golems, spiders, ghouls and whatever remained of Ancient Netheril lurking beneath the sands.

As the city rose further and further, creaking under the weight of the magic, Aalin lay back and considered his situation. Scrying the sorceress had possibly alerted her to his presence, and even if she was unaware, at some point, she would be. He could cut his losses and allow a sand chute – which was rapidly running out – to carry him down under a warding spell, or negotiate and possibly join forces with this sorceress if she was willing, or he could attempt to prevent her from taking control of the city. Anyone who wanted to raise a Netherese city couldn't be up to anything good…

Amplifying his inner monologue, the mists voiced his unspoken words.

If his memory served, Thayvians usually used gnolls as bodyguards and slaves. What red wizard wouldn't want to raise a Netherese city for their own gain? The vision hadn't shown him any tattoos, but under that hood, their glow might be masked. Was it really asking so much? Just to have one venture where others didn't try to exploit him, where there was a semblance of peace?

There was no peace, the taint murmured. Peace was a lie. This place was a gift; a gift that he should exploit. With it, he could rule Faerûn; he could assemble allies and conquer this realm.

The taint recoiled as the geas seized it. Aalin could feel the wracking pain, but he distanced his mind from it. The taint roared with hateful fury, but fell silent.

As much as he might not want to admit it, the taint had a point. Such a city could be used as a base. The perfect base for Halruaan Skyships or spelljammer vessels. A mobile fortress.

Such a city could fall onto Neverwinter, the taint mused idly.

Aalin ignored that.

As the city began to stabilise, a plan formed in his mind. The Netherese flying cities were powered by mythallars. Touching one meant death. Maybe he should form portals and summon his 'siblings' there. He dismissed that thought and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the mirror and its dark face caught his attention. A mythallar would be powerful enough to bring Aribeth back, to break whatever was blocking his spells. With a mythallar, none of his siblings could threaten him. Could it be used to drive off the taint? Could he make it his phylactery? The city was of no consequence; the prize was right in front of him. The solution to all his problems. To be free of the taint… could it be done? Could he seal it, strengthening the geas?

Aria stared, and frowned._ "Is that even possible?"_

Aalin sat up. A distraction. The golems.


	22. Undrentide III

Undrentide III

Heurodis. Writhing serpents flickered from her scaled head, her cowl's interior illuminated by the mythallar. The mythallar was glowing like a small, white sun, an orb of crystal so bright the shadows it cast were deeper and longer than the late afternoon sun. The golems were all in position, out of sight. From beneath the high plateau under the mythallar's chamber, Aalin waited in one of the tunnels. Projecting his image wasn't as effective as a simulacrum, but he didn't have a simulacrum on hand – yet.

Heurodis had introduced herself, after a fashion. The snakes hissed around her, and her handmaids were less than impressed. His image hadn't turned to stone as it wasn't flesh. Not a red wizard, then. As soon as Aalin saw – through the image – her face, the plan changed. It never really made too much sense why mages would create constructs there were resilient and immune to magic; even as assassins of other mages, it wasn't especially bright.

Having shared her name, and invited him to join her collection of statues and witness her domination of Faerûn, he realised she wasn't precisely flesh herself, not in the living sense. Heurodis was a lich. If she had a phylactery, everything became a lot harder. Her flesh didn't look very old, almost fresh in fact. Aalin could sense she knew where he was, that she saw through his deception and it wouldn't be long before a horde of armoured gnolls bore down on him. Heurodis seemed intent on controlling the mythallar, while her handmaids stood guard. Playing for time would only strengthen her position.

"I could be of use." Strapping the dark-faced mirror to his chest, or shield if he had one, which he did not, or even to his back would have been reasonable thing to do when facing a medusa, or at the very least, covering his eyes, Aalin supposed as he ascended the tunnel's slope to the plateau, but that would have given away his ill-intent. Heurodis would also have to face away from the mythallar. Being careful not to look directly at the glowing orb, he kept his gaze lowered. "There's much we can offer one another."

"Wait. Ssstop!" She hissed. "I feel – power within you, yes. I can – taste it."

_"Are all cold-bloods the same?"_ Aria wondered, squinting. _"Morag. Heurodis. Maybe it's the tongue. Sssss."_

The Solar didn't quite smile.

"Let him – approach. Draw near, yesss, near, elfling."

Mentally, Aalin ran through his inventory. Tomes, more tomes, and still more tomes, bowls, a stone and censer for controlling elementals, various tools for crafting and commanding golems, and other artefacts that didn't seem to be of much use at present. Could Bhaal's avatar be held captive by a medusa's gaze? The taint within roared its defiance.

_"It's pretty obvious he overcomes her. Golems. Probably disrupts the connection to the mythallar and the city plummets."_

_"Bored, godchild?"_ Mild reproach entered her melodic tone.

_"He'll have instructed the golems to throw everyone at the mythallar."_

_"It seems you know your father, godchild."_

Aria shrugged. _"It's what I'd have done."_

The mists shifted again.

The lich stood alone with Aalin. The golems were trapped outside a shimmering dome of pure magical force. In the centre, the mythallar's brilliance stood out against the darkening outside skies. Its light was only blocked by the bodies piled up around it, and there were many.

"I will need a high priestess."

"You have ssslain my ssslaves."

"Slaves can be replaced. You can sense what I am. What say you? Imagine the power you would command."

"You are not a god yet, godling."

"But I will be. You have already tasted my might. Working together, Faerûn would fall before us."

Heurodis hissed, the snakes around her head whipping this way and that. The light from the mythallar had blinded her gaze. Her scales shimmered; he could feel the intensity of her focus in maintaining the link to the mythallar.

"Accept me as your acolyte. Upon my ascension, you will rule over the mortal realm." He inched closer. "There is so much to learn; others will fear you, envy you." The taint within him raged, demanding to be unleashed. Bit by bit, he tugged on it as if it were the finest of threads, lifting it and holding it with his mind. "You hear it, don't you? It rails within. With this mythallar, we could tap into its source, amplify it. My rise will eclipse yours, but the planes will be my dominion."

The medusa lich's tongue flickered. "You are lying, godling. I sssense your deception. You want this – mythallar for yourssself."

"Yes," He agreed calmly, focusing inwards, "but if we fight, the mythallar will be lost."

She turned, and he averted his gaze. "Ssstand still!"

"We work together – share power."

Another hiss. "Call off your toysss."

The golems continued to pound on the glistening dome. He thrust what lay beneath the taint, projecting his divine essence at the mythallar in a rush. He felt her wards around it and channelled everything he could draw upon; the raw power surged through him.

"Betrayer!" Heurodis' fury was shown by the lashing snakes. "All the sssame."

The wards were too strong, but as she began to gather the mythallar's energies into her, he reached into his bags and flung the slave collar at her. This close, it snapped around her neck. That moment's distraction was all he needed. Pulling back from the mythallar, he forced Bhaal's might into a geas, which slammed into the lich. "Serve." He commanded, his eyes glowing golden. "_SERVE ME_." The taint's voice overtook his.

Struggling to overcome the taint and command the lich, Aalin shuddered; Heurodis was wracked with power, spasms coursing through her serpentine body as she sought to break the geas and slave collar and hold onto the mythallar.

Aalin could feel himself slipping, his inner reserves failing. Through the geas, he could feel Heurodis would never agree, never submit. The city shuddered. As the taint's voice grew louder in both their minds, he shoulder-rammed her.

There was white, then darkness. The dome of light imploded, and Aalin felt himself rolling backwards. The mythallar stuttered, and the city began to plummet. Snapping to his senses, he reached out with his mind to re-establish the link, and raw magic blasted through him. In that instant, he had a choice: stabilise the city or use the mythallar.

Closing his eyes, he made his choice. The taint screamed within him.


	23. Present Day: To Have and to Hold?

Present Day

"He never could have held the city. Others would have become aware of it, sought it for themselves." Aria sighed. "I guess I understand… I might've done the same."

Thinking back to her own journeys, she shifted slightly.

"I suppose I'd have tried to unlock my potential and purge the taint if I had the power. But it didn't work, did it?"

The Solar seemed to sadden.

"I guess he had to try. At least he was able to seal it though. Partially."

_"Yes."_ She agreed quietly.

The mists painted another scene; the mythallar was destroyed, overloaded by the attempt, and the city of Undrentide fell to the sands for the second time. Slipping through the dark-faced mirror, Aalin's silhouette vanished from view.

"So what happened next?" Aria poked at a grey tendril of vapour. "Or is that it?"

_"There is still your life, godchild."_

"I suppose. He's not much of a warrior though. That shoulder barge at the end… what was he thinking?" She paused to consider. "Before Neverwinter, he never would have made such a move."

_"Yes."_

"Courtly vying is useful for something after all."

The Solar's disapproval manifested in a single look.

Aria laughed lightly, silver peals falling like raindrops under the sun. She caught herself. How long had it been since she laughed?

The mists gathered.


	24. An Old Friend

An Old Friend

Several years had passed since Aalin had left Candlekeep, and the girl he left behind had blossomed into a young woman. Auburn curls, more red than brown fell from her rosy cheeks and a wide smile seemed to light the world around her. Mischief twinkled in her eyes as raindrops sparkled in the sun.

Aria looked quizzically at the Solar. The Solar watched.

The few murmurs in the inn were harsh, angry. The inn itself hadn't seemed to have changed. A book or three lay forgotten on a table; rushes still bedded the floor, and Winthrop had put on weight. Gorion stood weary at the far corner of the bar, his flagon untouched. In the intervening years, his hair had thinned even further and more lines creased his brow. In his hand, he scrunched a scroll.

At the other end of the bar, standing on an empty barrel stood a green-scaled kobold with a lute. He strummed a song of his own devising and his lyrics were high and spoke of a great and merciful mage in grey, who had freed him after his former master, the white dragon Tymofarrar, was slain by mysterious forces and later tried to make an ancient Netherese city fly. Tymofarrar, amongst other things, enjoyed pies, and jokes, and using Deekin, his kobold slave, as a toothpick. Deekin sang in the third person, describing how he learned to be a bard, his attempts at sorcery and other unfortunate mishaps in a series of rowdy tales.

Imoen, the girl, seemed undaunted by all of it.

Winthrop halted, watching over his own flagon's rim. Eyes surprisingly astute, he seemed to read his friend's mood and know exactly how to respond. Consoling him would have done nothing, and launching into another tale of the olden days would spread no cheer, so instead, the burley innkeeper simply waited.

"Things are getting worse." Gorion finally allowed.

Winthrop nodded.

Nearby, Imoen pretended to scrub the table. Eavesdropping was a natural talent, one she had to develop by being aware of her surroundings and listening for customers' orders.

"Bring me another ale, girl." One of the older monks grumbled from the corner.

She flashed him a quick smile and inched her way around the table. Lecherous stares were part of the job and she didn't mind all that much. Not all of them were disgusting old men. Tugging her skirts a little, she made her way behind the bar to the large barrel.

"Still no word?"

Gorion shook his head. "Nothing." He sighed and ran a parched hand through his hair. "He may not even be on Faerûn."

"You'd have heard if he was." Winthrop patted his friend's arm. "Ye worry too much."

"I never should have let him go."

"Ye hardly could've stopped him." Taking a long draught, Winthrop glanced over his shoulder.

Imoen scurried out with a tray of flagons.

"She's becoming too much like you for her own good." Gorion chuckled.

"Aye."

Gorion exhaled.

"_The gnolls of the demonfey J'Nah descended on the cavern of Tymofarrar._" Deekin sang. _"Her foul magic made them into Frost Giants."_

"To Drogan." Winthrop lifted his ale.

"Drogan." Gorion finally drank.

"'We did a number on that old red drake, lad', he'd say and drink to it. Seems only fitting we'd drink to him. Aye. Nine years since his passing, Tymora smiled on his soul."

Imoen resumed her cleaning, exercising her bucket and mop, as she stooped to scrub the low bench. The perfect vantage point to listen in on everyone. Glancing over at the cellar, she wondered how her rattraps were doing. Maybe she could convince Deekin to deal with them…

"Aye. I almost sent…" Gorion shook his head.

"Nay, not even for a moment." Intercepting the unspoken thought, Winthrop straightened his apron. "'E was last seen heading t'wards Icewind Dale."

"A flying city… no, you're right, Aalin would have been noticed."

"Aye. No trace was found of 'im in the ruins. 'Sides, it was nine years ago. Aalin never knew Drogan. Whoever slew his killers was gone. Let the past rest, old friend. Drogan knew the risks when he retired, and he was the best one to guard them. 'He should've been safe, but time catches up to us all.' It's all over yer face. You couldn't have prevented it."

"_Poor Deekin, last of his tribe, hide, fleeing from the nasty gnolls. J'Nah made for the Anauroch desert, her band of assassins with her. The grey mage found Deekin after many tendays alone and cold hiding in the ruins of Hilltop where Tymofarrar used to walk in disguised as a man to stuff his face with pies!_"

"If only I'd visited him… three months. I pushed it off."

"Aye, and ye'd have been killed too. You tracked the trail after ye got word, and found the city in the sands and no one there."

"Such strong magic. A mythallar, had to be." Taking another thoughtless sip, Gorion felt himself sag. "The residue was so vivid." He locked his eyes on Winthrop's. "I know her wards. It had to have been him."

"Well, even if yer right, he ain't there now, and ye found no tracks leading away. Maybe he teleported as ye say and it got lost in the blast, but no one's seen or heard a whisper."

Gorion sighed again and stared into the flagon's ripples. Memories of Aliana still haunted him.

Imoen worked the hard bristled brush over the ale-stained board. One day, she was going to find him.


	25. An Old Friend II

An Old Friend II

They were calling it the 'Iron Crisis', Imoen noted, as they pelted flat out towards the ruins. They could have picked a better name. Like 'Sarevok's Terror' or something.

"Imoen!" Jaheira yelled, "Stop dawdling!"

She would have rolled her eyes, but ducked under the doorway as Aerie grabbed her arm and pulled her through. Deekin was two steps ahead of her, clutching his lute, lyre and crossbow. This particular band of bandits were the eighth, or ninth group to try to hunt them? She wasn't sure. At least now there was a large stone door between them and… "Are we trapped?" Yup. They were. "Jaheira…"

"Not now child."

Imoen sighed and tried not to pout. This was really getting silly. When they had set off, she expected pugtails and hobgoblins, maybe even a gnoll, but humans? The whole world had gone mad.

"So this is Durlag's tower?" Running her finger along a wall, she tried to be impressed. Well, okay, maybe she was a _little_ impressed.

"G-guess s-so." Aerie shivered. Imoen hugged her, remembering how much the wingless avariel disliked enclosed spaces. A shy smile later and Jaheira was back to being bossy. In charge.

"Yup. So, Jah, what are those outside?" She peeked through the cracks in the wall. "They look like bits of armour."

"Battle h-horrors." Khalid managed, peering over Imoen's shoulder. She tried not to wrinkle her nose at the stench of his armour and failed.

Deekin set his crossbow and waited for Jaheira's order. The little kobold was quivering, Imoen noticed, and rubbed his shoulder.

"Leave it. Let's move inside. Everyone watch for tripwires and traps."

This whole 'party leader' thing had really gone to her head, Imoen's exchanged look with Aerie said. Aerie managed a wane smile.

Jaheira nodded to Khalid, and they each took position at the inner doorway.

"Hey… what's that?"

"Silvanus…" Jaheira breathed. "A demon knight! Everyone, down!"


	26. Present Day: Agency

Present Day

The mists parted around Aria. In the roofless plane and its clouds slashed by green lightning, Aria felt the urge to pace. She resisted, but her gaze drifted. The throne room lay beyond, empty. This place stood devoid of Bhaal's symbol. From the corner of her eye, she took in the glowing form of the Solar, serene as always. Zoab's presence had been one of hate, throbbing red, silent rage. Were there any other chambers to this place?

There was a stillness here. She hadn't fully acknowledged it, not at first. As if the souls of the unjustly slain resided beneath, held within the vastness of the chamber, unseen. There was power here. Such power. Here one could be a god.

She felt the Solar's gaze on her.

Was that was this was about, then? The sort of goddess she might be? Or was this an attempt to cast off Myrkul's curse. This place was a feast for any Spirit-Eater. From here, she could launch a fourth crusade against the Wall of the Faithless.

_"No."_

Aria laughed, the same light, silver peals falling, masking her rage. "Ao will not allow it? Or Kelemvor will not? The Blood War sees demons drawn to the Wall to devour those who are slowly fading within. A lack of faith will overturn the order of the realms?" The walls of the plane pulsed; she could feel them aligning with her blood. "Kaelyn the Dove thinks to become a beacon to the faithless. Could I not summon her here?"

_"That is not your purpose here."_

"My purpose is to be judged? For you to be my advocate. How many of your gods have made pawns from us? Bhaal, Myrkul; I would not be here if it was not for their meddling. Akachi the Betrayer, this 'spirit-eater' curse. Am I to redress their wrongs? That sweet girl, Imoen. What kind of irresponsible overgod lets someone like _Bhaal_ become a god? You'll let Myrkul build a wall, but you won't let it be torn down?"

_"That is Kelemvor's domain. The choice is his."_

"Should I feast upon Kelemvor and all those who stand in my path? Or will Ao decree that another godswar isn't going to happen? Perhaps I should devour _you_."

The Solar didn't answer.

"Why are you showing me these lives? With Myrkul's curse, I have the power to cleanse the realms of Belhifet and all those like him. I could devour all of the hells."

_"What would you do then?"_

"I… don't know. I guess I'd become a more terrible evil 'cause of all the evil I'd devoured. I didn't _want_ to devour spirits, you know. It's not as if my life was ever my own. I only did what I could with the choices I had."

_"I know."_

"So what happened to the rest of them? Bhaal's spawn. Did they slaughter each other?"

_"Yes."_

"It isn't fair."

The Solar remained expressionless.

"'Faithless'. You expect us to have faith when gods like Bhaal and Myrkul exist, when there are children born whose destiny it is to slaughter each other, to be sacrificed so their dead sire can be resurrected? When gods like Tyr stand by and do nothing while their champions like Aribeth are betrayed and named betrayers? Am I not Murder's spawn, cursed by Myrkul? Why shouldn't I do as they do, as the weapon I've been forged into? Because I have a choice? Have I ever had a choice?"

_"You have a choice."_


	27. Beginnings II

Beginnings II

Shayla. The village of West Harbour. Fire was everywhere. She drew her last breath, a babe in her arms, wrapped in elven-cloak. A shattered sword, the shards scattering, arcing through the air, through Shayla into the babe. The sword's wielder, a man, bald, covered in glowing tattoos. Ammon Jerro. Set against him was a being… armoured, like a golem, shadow wrapped around him like mist.

The King of Shadows, the guardian of Illefarn, Aria acknowledged silently in her mind, the Fallen Kingdom's sentient protector. Perfect in his lack of ambition, his lack of pride, his only charge to defend Illefarn. Sustained by the Weave, those of Illefarn believed he would protect them forever. In the moment Mystryl died, when Karsus tried to steal her divinity, when the flying cities of ancient Netheril fell, Undrentide included, the guardian turned to the Shadow Weave. On that day, all mythallar failed. For one moment, the world was without magic.

The mists cleared and reformed.

Ancient Illefarn. The city of Arvahn. Where dwarves and elves worked together, just as they had in the Hand of the Seldarine. Where the Song Portals of Illefarn spread out across Faerûn. They saw how the Shadow Weave changed their guardian, naming him the 'King of Shadows'. They turned on him, believing him corrupted by the Shadow Weave's dark influence. When their warriors failed, they hired the great crystal dragon Nolalothcaragascint. After preparing their rituals, Illefarn's warriors fought their guardian.

Mortally wounded, Nolalothcaragascint's crystal heart was turned into a lich's phylactery by Illefarn's mages, trapping his spirit. Defeated, but not slain, the King of Shadows was forced into the Plane of Shadows from where he waged war upon the Githyanki in the Astral Realm in Illefarn's name for a thousand years.

The mists parted again, this time focusing on the silver blade as it shattered. The sword of Gith. The warlock Ammon Jerro, had scoured the Nine Hells for it, first seeking out Nolalothcaragascint for the wyrm's counsel. Following the Wailing Death, the King of Shadows returned to Illefarn, within which, Neverwinter lay. Aware of the Fallen Kingdom's history, and the threat the King of Shadows posed, Jerro prepared for the day Illefarn's guardian returned. The final battle took place just outside West Harbour. Jerro led a small force of Neverwinter soldiers, summoning demons and devils to fight the denizens of the Shadow Plane.

When at last the two met, Gith's sword shattered, but the guardian was driven back into the Shadow Plane, and Ammon was carried down to the hells by the demons he had made pacts with.

A single cry from the still living babe shattered the night's still.


	28. Present Day: And?

Present Day

Aria shrugged. She had seen this all before, lived it. Absently, she poked at the mists with her gloved forefinger. She should have felt the cold here, but she didn't. Drawing strands as her nail broke the grey, she exhaled slowly and stared at the cloud. Her own face stared back, younger, before all of this had shaped her. She dreamt dreams growing up, saw her mother's face in her memories, felt the whispers of Aliana from her soul gem.

"Why are we looking at this? You said I was here because of my sire, to judge me. Why show me Imoen? Why… show this?" Angling her chin slightly, she studied her younger self.

_"Do you not wish to walk through your life?"_

"I know what happened. I was there. What about Aalin? And Aliana and Ilmadia? How did they know each other? Why were they at odds? Why did Ilmadia serve Belhifet? Were they lovers? Sisters?" Beneath her tunic under her silken mail, Aria clutched the oval gem beside her heart.

The Solar did not answer, but seemed to wait for her.

"She – would tell me of the Crown Wars. Of Illefarn. In whispers. Her voice, so soft, seemed to sing in my mind. While I walked Illefarn's ruins, she told me of its memories, its fall, and the survivors. The great orc horde that destroyed so much, and was defeated by Iliyanbruen, Rillithar and Eaerlann, though not before Illusk, Gauntlgrym, and Delzoun, a dwarven empire, were ravaged.

"I remember she mentioned Illiyanbruen two and a half centuries after the horde; the humans who settled there, and the orcs who overran the last of the elven outposts in the Spine of the World. I remembering standing in Lord Halueth Never's tomb, as she described his twenty-year war against them, and how despite his victory, Illiyanbruen was gone. It became 'Neverwinter Wood'. She… said they renamed the Illusk settlement Eigersstor 'Neverwinter', to honour the elf lord."

Her words had turned low, as she stared into the mists. Several moments passed.

"Did she want to rebuild it? The Hand of the Seldarine? Ilmadia? Aliana?" A sigh passed her lips and she touched her pauldron. "Why would Aliana have left Ilmadia's armour to Aalin?" Aria looked up at the Solar. "Why won't you tell me?"

_"Would knowing any of this change anything, godchild?"_

Leaning back from her knees, still cross-legged, she considered the girl in the mists. "Maybe. S'pose. Yes?"

_"Would not your own life reveal more than a distant ancestor?"_

Sighing loudly, she spread her hands and flopped onto the floor, studying the churning green skies above.

The Solar towered above her unmoved.

"If you don't want to, just say so." Aria squinted sidelong at her. "Maybe it's just not cryptic enough to have a place here? I mean, was Aalin an elf? Was Aliana? If you showed me Aliana's father was a fey'ri, or her grandfather, and her mother was a moon elf, or avariel or something, then maybe it'd make a difference. Wouldn't it? I mean, I should have wings and a tail, maybe, horns perhaps." Miming flapping hands, she stopped and waited.

The white slashes of light that made up the Solar's eyes offered nothing.

She couldn't help exhaling. "No?" After a moment, she tried again. "Anything?"

The Solar simply watched her, unreadable, calm, patient. Not even a hint of annoyance brushed her composure. She just listened.

"This is interesting and all, and I'm really not trying to be difficult." Flopping onto her side, then her front, Aria nudged Gith's sword aside with her knee. Resting her elbows on the floor and her face in her heads, she found herself drawn back to the girl. "I get that you don't care for the choices I've made, or who I am, I do and I appreciate you showing me this, but it doesn't change anything. They're not here. They're still… dead or lost or whatever else, and you brought me here. But obviously, this is for my benefit since you must already know or you couldn't show me, and I just don't see how reliving it is relevant."

_"Is that what you believe godchild?"_ Taking a half step didn't accurately describe the blue giant's motion; she simply moved without visible action. Her white wings still framed her, and her flaming locks were still crowned with gold. There was something so gentle in her question, Aria froze.

"Well you don't, do you?"

_"I am here to judge your actions and stand as advocate for your choices."_

"I'm a horrible person, born to a traitor and a Bhaalspawn. I am cursed to eat spirits. I threatened to eat you and the gods you serve. Of course you don't like me. Why should you?"

_"Not all of this was your fault, godchild, as you will see. You are only responsible for your own actions."_

"And what's with this godchild thing? Shouldn't it be 'demi-godchild'? Or did Aalin ascend Bhaal's throne, and if he did, why am I here?" She loosed another breath. "I didn't want any of this. My mother was taken from me, and then the woman who would've been my mother died holding me in her arms; my father left, and I was left with a grieving elf who was practically a mute to raise me. My own father went off in search of his dead love, my mother. Maybe that's unfair, but that's what happened. He left to protect me, to give me a 'normal' life, if any orphan could have a normal life, hidden away in some remote backwater. He was raised in a library. I get why he left. But he still left. I was never given a choice. Just like I was never given a choice in any of it; I just had to… play the hand I was dealt.

"So don't you think I'm a little bit angry at all of this? Don't you think that these stupid wars that these feuding gods and their followers allow and cause ruined any chance of a peaceful life I might have had? Or am I just being arrogant for thinking that mortals should be entitled to a peaceful life? I mean, gods can do whatever they want, right? Bhaal did. Look at what happened to Aliana and the rest of those women. Look at what happened to Ilmadia. Look at what happened to _me_. This or that god and their curse, their petty bickering, and somehow, I'm the one who is being judged here?" She sighed a long, half exasperated, half tired sigh. "But I guess you've heard all of this before. Fine, we'll do things your way. Let's just get this over with."

The Solar smiled.

The mists gathered.


	29. Adventures of an Old Friend

Adventures of an Old Friend

Imoen tucked her head as she rolled. Aerie attempted the same, but wobbled and the ball she folded into came apart. Imoen grabbed the elf's arm and pulled her across the floor. In the passageway beyond, the hall collapsed. Jaheira stood blooded, bruised, battered and covered in dust. Khalid looked equally grimy. Both were grim, but at the same time, relief touched their eyes. Deekin was entirely untroubled by it all, and was busy scribbling in his journal.

"_The demon knight did die, the roof falling in._"

Aerie smiled wanly. Imoen tried not to grin, or giggle at Jaheira's expression. Any number of things could be read from it.

"_The nature of the stones she woke, and dropped them on that silly folk…_"

Khalid touched his wife's arm before she could speak.

"P-perhaps n-now's not the best time for song, Deekin?" Aerie ventured gently.

The kobold looked genuinely perplexed, but agreed with an amiable bob of his head and he tucked his writing away in his satchel.

"Well… we should find another way out." Imoen looked around, and wrinkled her nose. "It smells down there." She beamed at Aerie who had paled visibly at the dark and linked arms. "It's an adventure!"

Aerie nodded tentatively.

Jaheira and Khalid were already checking the hallway.

"D-do you think it's really g-gone?"

"Yup." Imoen poked at the fallen block with her boot toe. "Didn't you hear its armour crunch? Betcha it's back in the hells where it belongs."

Aerie nodded again.

"C'mon." Squeezing the elf's arm, the auburn haired young woman stepped forwards. "We'll find a way out."

Deekin, who seemed to have been in a world of his own, looked up with a hideously toothy look that was meant to be a heartening smile. As he chattered reassurances, Imoen had one eye out for traps, two eyes, really, and kept an eye out behind them, and to the sides, on the floors, and walls and ceilings, while remaining half-aware of Aerie's trembling arm, even as the elf set her jaw and fought down growing panic. Imoen found her thoughts turned to things that would have bored her a few months ago. Everything had gone completely mad.

Everything had got much, much worse since Sarevok Anchev had been elected Grand Duke; the other Grand Dukes had fallen to the blades of Amnish assassins and a massive manhunt ensued. One culprit was apprehended and gave his confession publicly before being sent to the stake. Other 'evidence' had been found. The news was on everyone's lips. The bandit raids had only increased, but abruptly stopped when Grand Duke Anchev announced an 'amnesty'; bandits from all over the region flocked to his banner, and after the sole Grand Duke marched the Flaming Fist down from 'The Gate', the Baldur's city was left virtually empty. Every able-bodied man had marched with them; those who hadn't volunteered had been pressed into service. Mages, clerics, nobles and their guards, merchants, paupers, every tavern drunk. Women too. Even the sewers had been scoured if the rumours were true. Everywhere in a tenday's march had been swept up. Most farmers had already moved to the towns in search of work, and the crops in the fields had been failing for months. Mercenaries had joined Anchev's ranks, lured by promises of riches and glory and anyone who objected too loudly was strung up from the nearest tree.

Fortunately, she had got out with Jaheira and Khalid just in time. They had dodged the Flaming Fist contingent dispatched to Candlekeep by hiding in the catacombs beneath the keep. Winthrop had hidden them under the cellar, an old tunnel he thought she didn't know about. For smuggling, she imagined, or at least a way in and out past the Gatewarden. The smile that touched her was sad, momentary joy fading. Not everyone in Candlekeep had gone willingly. Examples had been made. Reevor, the grouchy old dwarf, Dreppin, Erik, Jondalar… Hull protested, but after Fuller was beheaded for 'defying the Grand Duke in a time of war', the rest accepted their spears and began the march. Those leading the Fist had threatened to torch the library if they did not obey, and had brought enough battlemages to enforce their order. A few were considered too old; Karan, Phlydia, Parda, Tethtoril…

Deekin had escaped with them. He was cute, in an odd sort of way, and she couldn't bear to let him get slaughtered. Even Winthrop had to march south; the battlemages searched the library top to bottom. She thought of Winthrop, and his large-boned cheery smile, and wondered if he had been placed with the supplies. He would be good at that, and hopefully safe. Armies needed lots of barrels, Khalid had told her later, stuttering over his words.

She tried not to think about Gorion. Long after the battlemages finished sacking the library, they had crept out from under the cliffs. Jaheira was livid, stony in her cold. Imoen was just grateful she and Khalid had chose to visit Candlekeep; Winthrop could have hidden with them, but they would have been discovered. The two half elves had promised to get her clear of the region, and as soon as they sure the Anchev's host had marched past Nashkel, they cut across country. That's when they had run into stragglers, bands of deserters and bandits who had evaded the pressgangs.

She squeezed Aerie's hand, and the former avariel smiled shyly at her. She was glad Aerie had escaped the chaos; it had been by chance they had even found her. Half starved, wide and wild eyed, her clothes were rags. Part of a travelling circus, Anchev's scouts spared no one when they hit Nashkel's faire, where the circus had paused. Able to conceal herself, the elf hid up a tree while the mercenaries torched everything they could not plunder. Quayle, her adopted gnomish 'uncle', had taken an arrow in the initial stages of the assault. Aerie had barely spoken of it, briefly mentioning in a detached tone what the men had done. Khalid identified their banner as belonging to the Black Talons. Alone, desperate, Aerie had stayed off the roads, avoiding the bandits as best she could, hiding and barely daring to breathe, praying they would not smell her; the main army had swept through Nashkel towards the Cloudpeak Mountains and Amn.

They had found her sitting by a large tree, knees drawn to her chin. Her eyes were everywhere, as she huddled to keep out of the rain. It had been Deekin who found her, and any bandit or soldier would have gutted the kobold on sight, or worse. The ruins of a nearby farmstead held nothing but ashes and burnt timbers, the cowshed burnt out of malice, the half-sown fields abandoned. They had seen the rising smoke from the halfling village of Gullykin drifting into the clouds days before.

Aerie had been so startled to see them, and realising she had nowhere to go, began to whisper her incantation of invisibility. Jaheira clutched her quarterstaff, her eyes tight, but Khalid lowered his sword, and Deekin chirped if the 'nice lady' was all right? Aerie had stopped mid-whisper and tears took her as she buried her head. She had never expected a _kobold_ to show kindness, the elf later admitted. Deekin couldn't understand why she would be scared of them, and awkwardly wondered what was wrong.

Imoen herself felt her heart give way and even though she had known it was bad, hadn't realised it was _this_ bad. After offering to share their rations with her, of which they had plenty, thanks to Jaheira's enchanted bags and Winthrop's cellar stores, Aerie had opened up a little. Jaheira stood guard, half keeping watch over Aerie, and half on the surrounding landscape as the drizzle washed the land. Khalid approached the elf, while Imoen crouched down close by. Jaheira had more insisted than offered the elf a blanket and after it was around her thin shoulders and clutched in her trembling hands, Aerie ventured a small nibble of the wedge of cheese Imoen produced. Khalid haltingly asked a few gentle questions, and Aerie hesitantly responded.

After ten minutes or so, Jaheira informed them all that they should be moving on. Aerie's face was painted with terrible alarm, but there was never any question they were leaving her behind. Quite exhausted, and unable to bring herself to meditate on her spellcraft, her repertoire had slowly dwindled. Casting restorative invocations only went so far, but Jaheira brusquely prepared the elf for travel in her typically no-nonsense manner. They took shelter in some caves that night, if cliff crags counted as caves. Aerie had been reluctant to, but fatigue had overwhelmed her.

At least they were able to start a fire, and after concealing the entrance with rocks, branches and Jaheira's own deft enchantments, an anxious calm settled. Unbroken sleep was something that had become a distant memory, almost a dream. They never stopped for very long, not unless they had found somewhere safe, and even then, they were always standing guard. On the way towards Beregost, even as they prepared to skirt around the town, they had found the ruins of a large tower. It had been bombarded by the Fist's battlemages. They didn't stop there for long. Jaheira muttered something about how 'unnatural' the stench of the Art's residue was, and how they mustn't tarry.

Imoen couldn't be sure how long they slept in the cave-crag. She was finally dry, and even Deekin's distinctive, somewhat pungent smell, was something she didn't mind. Aerie shook and shivered on the bedroll; her eyes locked on the fire. Imoen had taken it in turns sitting beside her with Deekin and Khalid, and even Jaheira crouched close to the elf. It was then Aerie admitted to being one of the avariel, and turning her back, lifted her filthy, tattered dress. Jaheira half hissed, half tsked in both sympathy and anger at the elf's scars. Khalid averted his eyes, and gently steered Deekin away. Imoen remembered how she had taken hold of Aerie's hand, and squeezed lightly, and the teary-eyed gratitude Aerie had returned. Jaheira had immediately taken to preparing better clothing, though her needlework was rough. Aerie had taken over, proving a defter hand and sewing so finely the thread seemed invisible against the second blanket Jaheira provided.

Since then, things had got a little better. "Call me 'Immy'," she had said; they would be a team, Immy and Aerie. A dashing duo, feared by all. And they had dashed, a lot, though not quite how she had meant. But in spite of being chased by bandits, Aerie had begun to offer small, tight smiles, and she was beginning to look better. More rest and food would help, but at least now, they had two healers _and_ Aerie knew a little of the Art too, and best of all, Aerie had even promised to teach her some incantations! Things were definitely looking up.

Jaheira's annoyed hiss pulled Imoen from her thoughts. Keeping morale up was hard work! She nudged Aerie lightly; the elf smiled back with that same, taut-lipped crease. They headed further into the tower, guided by Khalid's torch. Deekin had also procured a torch, not that he needed one, but the little kobold explained that he felt more like an adventurer carrying one. Aerie giggled slightly, and Imoen found herself deciding that she didn't mind scary places quite so much as long as she was with friends. Then she made a face as Jaheira glared back at them. She wasn't intentionally dawdling! She was watching for traps! And monsters and trapdoors and secret passages. A tower like Durlog's had to be full of them!


	30. Connecting the Pieces

Connecting the Pieces

Aria studied the ghostly forms within the mist. Dwarves, each telling a tale of betrayal, fear and how trust was overcome. Doppelgängers, infiltration, and Durlag gone mad with grief. Aerie spoke to them, trying to calm them; Jaheira was more direct, and Imoen queried, while Khalid looked sad, and cast fleeting glances at his wife. Deekin was busy scribbling, occasionally pausing to ask questions. Eventually, the whole story was revealed.

Most of the wards and traps were still functional, but with much care and after many days, they had evaded most of them and avoided the side rooms and vaults. After putting the ghosts of Durlag and Islanne, his wife, to rest, they sat down to discuss their next move. Within the mountains, they were secure, somewhat, and in a tower full of traps and wards. Wards they had bypassed, traps they had evaded. Imoen had argued that no one had cause to look for them, and Aerie shivered at the thought of remaining in the tower; Jaheira and Khalid exchanged looks. Deekin prepared a song for Durlag. There was treasure here, Imoen protested, not that she truly wanted it, but Jaheira flatly responded it was cursed and they weren't touching any of it. All it had done was brought misfortune. Aerie agreed, and Khalid stood by his wife. Reluctantly, Imoen let that particular point go, and instead raised another.

"Aalin. He's still out there somewhere."

Khalid and Jaheira exchanged a further look.

"W-What do you r-remember of him?" Khalid asked tentatively.

"Gorion wanted to search for him."

"It's been years, child." Jaheira cut in. "It's folly to even think of searching for him."

"And we should find him. He should know what happened."

The pair traded another glance.

"I-Imoen, we don't know w-where he went."

"He went up north, to Icewind Dale. I remember Winthrop saying so."

"We have no way of finding out if he's still there."

"We should try. Maybe someone saw him."

"W-who is Aalin?" Aerie carefully slipped in. While the others stood, she had curled her legs beneath her. Jaheira all but paced, her arms nearly folded. Khalid's legs were angled out, slightly wider than usual, as he increasingly sought to calm his wife's growing agitation.

"He is the mage in grey who saved Deekin after Deekin's old master Tymofarrar was slain by the nasty J'Nah's not-frost giant gnolls." The kobold chimed, suddenly taking part. "Deekin was trapped, and hiding in a well, after he stumbled after taking shelter in the ruins of hilltop village. The nice elf mage fished Deekin out and didn't try and kill him, and–"

"Why didn't you ever say anything?!" Imoen half shouted, half shrieked.

"Deekin forgot the nice elf's name, but now Deekin remembers! The nice elf never told Deekin his name, never spoke to Deekin at all, but Deekin will always remember what he looked like. Deekin remembers seeing a painting of him. The nice old lady P-Ph- she kept forgetting her book, so Deekin had to keep finding it for her; she makes paintings. Deekin saw one and asked who it was."

"Phlydia." The auburn haired young woman supplied, slumping, her hand raising towards her locket.

Deekin nodded. "She says 'Aalin', but Deekin had already written his song and couldn't change the words to fit. Deekin also thinks that the nice elf doesn't want his name spoken. Very famous in Neverwinter. Deekin spent some time there, but no one wanted to speak about him. Only in the taverns, the soldiers, greycloaks, they were."

"What did they say about him?" Imoen leaned in. Aerie and the others were also listening, Jaheira's eyes hard, focused. Khalid was more apprehensive, but Imoen didn't seem to notice, or care.

"They lifted their flagons, and toasted the 'Hero of Neverwinter'. He saved their lives and fought alongside them. Deekin has a song somewhere." The kobold began rummaging in his satchel.

"Sing later; what did they say?"

A little crestfallen, the kobold cleared his throat.

"W-what is th-the meaning of the accounts?" Aerie asked diplomatically before Imoen demanded he give the short version.

He brightened slightly. "They spoke of a traitor elf-human, a lady paladin, A… Ari…"

"Aribeth." Jaheira supplied tonelessly.

Deekin nodded. "Aribeth." He agreed. "The greycloaks say she was beautiful, and strong, and fought valiantly, but then they argue. Some say she was overcome by foul magic, and others that she wanted to revenge herself because her elf cleric, Fenthick, was hanged. A magic plague, the 'Weeping Death'." He made an effort not to reach for his notes.

"What does this have to do with Aalin?"

"He was her squire."

"What?" Imoen half yelped. Then she clapped her hands together and giggled.

Aerie gave her an odd look.

"Aalin – a squire. That's so funny. He always had his nose stuck in books. When he wasn't tousling my hair." She confided with a small grin. "He was always so nice to me. He pretended not to, but he was. Winthrop and Gorion would always talk about him, thinking I wasn't listening. So I heard lots about him."

"Hmph." Jaheira commented from the side.

Imoen ignored it. "So what happened next? You said she was a traitor?"

A sad expression fixed itself over the kobold's features. "They say the nice mage slipped through the enemy lines – nasty Luskans – to find her. He led her back, and they broke the catapults. Then he gave a speech and said he had slain the mage controlling her, and they drove back the Luskans all the way to the river. The Luskans were trapped by reinforcements, but some escaped across the river." Deekin frowned. "Oh, some were arguing and said that the nice mage in grey–"

"Aalin."

"Aalin. Didn't do much, but the others at the table swore he did, and threatened to punch the didn't-do-much man's nose. They were very angry and the didn't-do-much man didn't speak after that. Then they raised their flagons and toasted Aalin, then drank again and mourned the lady paladin's fate."

"But what _happened_?"

"Lord Nasher, the man in the castle Aalin saved, hung the lady paladin for betraying his city. They said she swung from the same tree as Fenthick."

Aerie's face paled.

"That's horrible!" Imoen's own face twisted. "But what happened to Aalin?"

Deekin shrugged. "Deekin doesn't know. Deekin only knows that nice mage in grey saved him from starving in the well, because Deekin couldn't climb up the slippery walls and rope. It was very cold."

"That was the last time you saw him?"

The kobold nodded. "He walked off into the falling snow, and Deekin couldn't hear his footsteps."

"But was he all right? How did he look?" Imoen pressed.

"Deekin isn't sure. But Deekin knows he didn't have to help save poor Deekin."

"Why didn't you go with him?"

"Deekin tried. Deekin chased after the nice elf mage and explained how Deekin's old master was slain, and how Deekin was all alone, and he didn't make Deekin leave, so Deekin went with him. Then after many days, he pointed to the road, and Deekin understood that the nice elf wasn't going to travel with him any more, and headed off into the falling snow. Deekin spent a few more days travelling to Neverwinter, which is where Deekin heard all about the nice elf mage but Deekin didn't know until Deekin saw the picture! Then Deekin knew that the nice elf mage was the hero of Neverwinter. Deekin knew the nice elf mage was a hero."

Jaheira's jaw had been set for the duration of the kobold's tale. "So you don't know where he went?" She asked flatly.

He shook his head.

"Well, we have to look for him. What if he returns to Candlekeep? What if he's caught?"

The half elf shook her head a touch irritably. "It is unlikely he will."

"Why?"

"He left for a r-reason, child." Khalid touched Imoen's shoulder.

"Yeah, well, no one told me what that was. And he deserves to know about Gorion." Imoen set her chin stubbornly. "You don't have to help, but I'm going to look for him."

"We didn't guide you all this way – Silvanus give me strength!" Jaheira ground her teeth. "You'll never make a tenday without us."

"So you'll help?" She turned to Aerie. "You'll help, won't you? I mean, unless you wanted to go somewhere else."

The avariel shook her head. "I-I'd l-like to."

Aria noted there was an awful lot of headshaking, but chose not to comment.

"There, it's settled." Imoen thrust her chin towards the two half elves. "So we're going."

Jaheira sighed loudly, and Khalid shrugged slightly, a small smile lighting his face. "I-Icewind Dale seems a g-good a place as a-any to get a-away from the fighting."

"There are _orcs_ there. Thousands of them. And barbarian tribes and – why do I bother?"

"I-It is cl-closer to n-nature, my love."

"Hmph."

"Deekin wants to meet the nice mage again."

Everyone seemed to have forgotten him.

"So we're going." Imoen stretched and yawned. "All this talking's made me sleepy."

Jaheira rolled her eyes at her husband, who smiled again, and lifted and dropped his shoulders.


	31. Present Day: Scrying Hopping

Present Day

"Thank you, Solar." Aria offered a quick smile. The Solar acknowledged it with the slightest dip of her head. "I guess… they went after him. It's sweet she remembered. He… must have really meant something to her." She paled. "Unless… she wasn't saying that so she could assassinate him, was she? She seems so sweet, and innocent."

_"Much like you were, godchild?"_

Aria dismissed that with a quick headshake. It was infectious, she decided privately. "No, I wasn't like her."

_"But you see the innocence. How she resists the darkness."_

This time, a nod. "I guess. I s'pose you'll want to talk about me now."

The Solar smiled again.

"Well… okay, but not for too long. I want to hear about Aalin. And Imoen."

Was that amusement she saw in the Solar's eyes? Aria stretched from her belly and made herself comfortable, as much as she could be lying on the floor of the Abyss.


	32. Present Day: My Choice

Present Day

"Why don't _I_ tell you what happened?" Aria suggested reasonably. "It would be faster than watching it all over again."

_"You have somewhere to be, godchild?"_

"As a matter of fact, I do."

The Solar fixed her a long look.

"I'm not talking about _that_. The Crusade is over."

_"Is it, godchild?"_

"For now." She shrugged, stretched and yawned. "But I guess I can hold out a while. I can't wait forever though. Besides, the sooner this is done, the sooner I can get back to my wanderings."

_"Where would you go?"_ Mild curiosity coloured her words.

"The Hand of the Seldarine, Undrentide, Candlekeep… Durlog's Tower, perhaps."

The great crowned head inclined.

The mists began to gather.

"Hey, I said I'd tell you…" Aria fell quiet as the vision became one of the village that had been her home for so long.


	33. Home

Home

A Githyanki sorceress, though she hadn't known their name back then. Her Duergar and bladeling slaves stormed the village. The huts burned just as they had all those years ago. Aria stood on the outskirts, her bow limp in her hand. Warmed and strung, her arrows were ready to sing. Only… taking a life, a sentient life, was so very different from hunting in the swamp.

Hours before, she had celebrated the harvest festival with the rest of the village. She had sung with Amie, and danced with Bevil. From her shoulder, Faetix had watched for a while, then flown back home; as usual, the faery dragon had slept the afternoon sun away. Curiosity over human faires lasted only so long. Laughing, Amie declared Faetix was more cat than dragon, then linked arms with her and Bevil and led them between the festive tents.

Cormick, a marshal of Neverwinter's city watch and a friend of Bevil's family, had already set off for Neverwinter. The merchant Galen had gone with him. The Moss brothers, boys their own age, had traded their usual insult-flirtations towards her and Amie. Bevil, as ever, had been jealous, and had duelled the oldest of the three in the harvest brawl. Everyone had laughed, drunk the harvest mead, and then they danced. Night had covered the skies, and the torches and bonfires held back the damp.

Then, the strange creatures struck. They overran the village; all of the militia had partaken in the mead. Those that were able to stand and hold a stave, knife or sword did. Daeghun shot those he could, darting between the houses, and hunting as he hunted the swamps. Georg did his best to rally the village; Amie and Bevil found her while the village burned. She had been in the garden, stealing away a few moments after the dance, standing in front of the tree she planted as a child. The tree Shayla was buried beneath. Every year, she stood in front of the tree, remembering, wondering, thinking of her mother, her father, watching how the tree had grown. It might have been a cliché, but it was her cliché, and it was all she had left to remind her.

She should have heard the cries, the screams, but she had not. Their home was on the outskirts of the village beyond the stream, and the tree was on the outer edges of the garden. Her friends quickly explained what had happened; through his hurried words, Aria grasped the chaos, the confusion, that somehow, the unthinkable was happening.

"We have to help!" Amie declared, grabbing Aria's hand. Bevil cleared his throat, and looked awkward.

"You two stay here."

A short, intense argument followed. They agreed to find Bevil's family, to try and reach his younger siblings. A look was exchanged. Then Amie smiled and squeezed Bevil's hand. He looked uncomfortable, but Aria understood. She met Amie's eye. If she fell, she wanted to be laid here, with her tree. Amie had occasionally japed that Aria was secretly a dryad, and a druid. Bevil gripped his cheap sword; since being admitted to the militia last harvest, he took his duty very seriously.

They made it across the bridge. Amie didn't make it any further. The Githyanki sorceress stood engaged with Tarmas, their teacher and mage, and spied the trio ducking towards the nearest house. Under assault from three Duergar, Tarmas' chanting rose, repelling their axes and the magical barrage. Providing a distraction, Amie rushed to his aid, disrupting the Githyanki's spellcraft. In cold anger, she turned her wrath against Amie. Bevil threw himself into the girl, but it was too late. The sorceress had already taken her life. A single incantation was all it took, but Amie's intervention had saved all their lives.

Aria's arrow loosed. It pierced the sorceress' shield, slicing across her eye. Surprise, dismay and icy fury gathered into intense hatred, and she plucked the splintered shaft from her ruined eye. Tarmas slew two of the Duergar, and the third one stepped back.

A kneeling Bevil sobbed over his friend. She hung limp, the hole in her dress smouldering, the flesh blackened, burnt, her eyes lightless.

The Githyanki vanished as Aria loosed a second shaft. Aliana's whispers guided her, urging her hand to draw as it had thousands of times before. Another arrow punched through the back of the surviving Duergar. Daeghun appeared, exchanging a look with Tarmas. The hedgewizard cast a glance at Amie, then closed his eyes and began to chant.

Bevil buried his head in Amie.

"They are searching for something." Daeghun's instruction was hushed, decisive. "You must leave as soon as they are repelled."

She stared at Bevil.

Daeghun's face closed in on her own. Her eyes switched onto his.

"What are they searching for?" Her own words sounded distant to her, as if she were walking in a waking dream. The question seemed altogether too reasonable.

"I do not know."

She didn't answer. Whatever suspicions he had weren't important right then. Her eyes refocused on Amie. Bevil still clutched her.

Daeghun's stare was grave, unblinking. The sounds of distant fighting reached them. Georg's cries rallied the survivors. The Duergar seemed to be withdrawing.

"I'll search for their tracks. Hunt down the stragglers." She lifted herself up. When had she slumped at the knees?

"We must get to Fort Locke, make them send aid." Bevil's voice faltered as he looked up for the first time. "For – For Amie."

Daeghun nodded slowly. "I will stay here with the village."

"Why?" Bevil asked stupidly, then realised the answer. "In case they return."

Ignoring him, Daeghun took Aria's upper arm. "There is something you must retrieve. I placed it in the old ruins, south of the great tree stump along the old east trail."

Aria listened expressionlessly. Her silence met his, but he elaborated after her eyes hardened.

"It was from the night…"

She nodded slowly.

"I placed it beneath the loose stone in the corner of the hall. It has the peoples' runes over the doorway."

Now she fixed him a look. It had been a long-standing point of contention between them. His people were wild, hers were not, supposedly. He was the only other elf in the village, but he still did not see them as being the same. The human part of her, she supposed, but he had once told her her mother was born to human and elven parents, and her father held only elven blood.

"What is it?"

"A shard of silver. It was the only surviving relic from the battle we could find."

She understood at once how he could not bear to have it near him. If the strange beings were searching for it… but why now? Why after so long?

Tarmas abruptly finished his spell. "I cannot trace where they have gone. I can sense no more like them near by. I will continue to scry." Sorrow flushed his features, and he turned away.

Bevil rose shakily, his own face pale with anger. "That's all you have to say?"

Aria grabbed his arm. "Let's go check on your family."

He nodded, then stalked away.

Daeghun nodded, knowing better than to argue with that look. She would explain things in her way, and leave as soon as she was able. Bevil's house was towards the eastern trail.

She had left Bevil to care for his young siblings. Anguish tore at her, and she recalled the surprise and sudden hate on the sorceress' features as her arrow had pierced through her barrier. Arrows her father had left her. Aliana's voice whispered to her, and then advised the garrison might require 'proof' before sending soldiers to check.

With a deep breath, Aria took one of the bladeling's heads, trying not to think about the sound it made and wrapped it. Merring was too busy attending his 'priestly duties' to preserve it for her; Tarmas was not. She placed it inside a basket and strung it to her pack. With Georg, the headsman and leader of the militia grievously injured, Tarmas would have to lead. Closing her eyes, she turned her back on West Harbour, drew up her hood and headed into the swamp.

One last thought touched her: the blue dress she had worn earlier that eve. It hung from the peg on the back of her door; she hadn't had time to put it away. A pang of regret ran through her. Amie had worn a similar dress in a shade of pale green; Bevil's mother, Retta, had made dresses for them both. The two girls were the daughters she never had, she told them with a smile. Amie, orphaned during the battle so many years ago, had nodded and hugged her, tears welling. With a small smile, Amie promised that they would get married in their dresses; Retta laughingly said no, but Amie's eyes shone. She already had someone in mind, and possibly someone for Aria, if she read her look right. Aria herself simply nodded, and found herself pulled into a hug. Faetix had chirped. Somehow, that awkward moment meant more to her than almost any other.

Back at home, when Aria had grabbed her bow, Amie and Bevil waiting outside, she had slipped into breeches, yanked a tunic over her head and grabbed the cloak her father had wrapped her in as a baby. Faetix was nowhere to be found, but she barely had time to think about that then. Amie died in her dress.

Aria's eyes squeezed shut. They had braided flowers in each others' hair only hours before. Now… she would never share that again. She had lost the nearest thing she had to a sister. Only emptiness filled her, cold, and a sick, wrenching sadness, a slow, quiet anger, but most of all, loss. There wasn't enough gold in the entire village to pay a priest to bring back a single person, let alone all those who had fallen. Tarmas' magic had been useless; she should have at least tried spellcraft. Maybe then, it would be Amie here and not her. She should have shot sooner. Never again would she hesitate, she promised herself. Her hesitation had cost Amie her dreams. Without a backwards glance, she set off into the swamp.


	34. Home II

Home II

_"Search the pockets."_ Aliana's voice pulsed from within the gem. Aria was in no mood for her whispers; her senses were alert as she scanned the swamp. The decay and damp filled her nostrils along with the putrid water's algae and ferns, the trees overhead. Daeghun always referred to the swamp as the 'Merdelain', elvish for 'Slow Marching Court'. The folk of West Harbour referred to it as 'The Mere of Dead Men'.

The stories always remained firm in her mind when she trod its paths. She had once demanded an answer from Daeghun as to the meaning of its name, its origins. He told her that once a kingdom, the Fallen Kingdom, had stood, but was overrun by an orc host. A mage raised the sea and drowned all but a few. Much later, Myrkul's avatar was slain, and his dust seeped into the water and caused the drowned corpses to rise. Tarmas had told her the last part, but at least it explained why there were so many undead wandering around aimlessly.

Aliana's whispers grew more insistent. Reaching inside the cloak, Aria searched around for pockets that she couldn't find. Aliana breathed a word; Aria repeated it, and the pockets opened. A… legacy. Squatting down on a nearby moss-covered stone, Aria carefully set her bow down and reached inside. Aliana's words guided her.

Elven mail. Carefully wrapped arrows. Faetix poked his head out, then carefully climbed up her arm and settled on her shoulder, his tail encircling her throat. Pressing his pointed snout into her hair, he chirped.

"So that's where you keep hiding." Aria murmured, more to soothe him than for herself. He nudged her with his head, and rubbed his crest against her. Absently, she stroked his ridges and long neck. Crooning softly, he curled around her shoulder.

Slowly, she held up the intricate chain links. It bore the same designs as her bow, her arrows. So light, supple. It felt like cold silk in her fingers; steel spider webbing. She unclasped her cloak. Faetix gave her a look and climbed up her braid. The village militia wore chainmail and she had heard their cussing as they struggled to yank it on. This mail slid on as if she were stepping into her bath, flowing around her and tightening where it needed to tighten with a will of its own. There was a divided robe in the pouch, angle-length. Aliana's words pressed against her. Inwardly grumbling, she adopted the robe and refastened her cloak. Rising from her stone perch, she frowned. She almost couldn't feel the mail at all.

"Why not before?" She wondered softly. Faetix chirped, then nestled further into her raised hood. Bitterness swept through her. That mail might have saved Amie's life. What else might be in the bag? What other secrets did this cloak hide? Irrationally, she flicked the stone she wore beside her heart. Before the stone could pulse chidingly, she set off.

Scanning this way and that, her boots carried her lightly. The sad truth was Bevil would only have slowed her down. Tarmas thought she had an innate aptitude for the Art, but her 'knack' was no different to being out here. The Weave felt alive, flowing, and this place, for all its residue of death, was something she navigated without conscious thought. The shadows, the breeze, the air, the trees, the murky waters, the brooks and pools, the floating logs, the moss, ferns, trees, algae. She shared an… understanding with the Mere. It resonated within her. Daeghun didn't understand, didn't feel the same way; he couldn't feel the magic of old Illefarn, the echoes that remained. She could feel its patterns, its shadows, its taint, its purity. It pulled at her, like the undertow, the currents. Flecks of Myrkul. If she drew close enough, she could feel the undead before her eyes saw them. Some seemed drawn to her, but she always avoided them. Aliana warned her not to speak of it to anyone, so instead, she would steal away, sit and listen, just listen, and _feel_ the Mere. She would talk to it, and listen to it talk back. It didn't speak with words, but it spoke.

Over the past few tendays, it had begun to feel different.

The ruins belonged to Illefarn. A number of structures littered the site, some claimed by the swamp, roofless, with one, or two walls. Two buildings remained whole, the first sealed. She had found it some years before while hunting. Within it lay a song portal, but she could never breech the wards or prise apart the wall, but she had peeked through a hole in the roof. Aliana had told her what it was, but not how to use it. But it was the second building she was interested in.

She instantly recognised something was amiss. The clawed tracks of lizardfolk littered the landscape, fresh enough to have been within the last tenday. With a silent mutter, she pressed forwards. The stone staircase led to the hall's storerooms. The stench of lizardfolk hung heavy in the air. Then she saw them. Two great lizards with stone axes.

The mists clouded over.


	35. Present Day: Dimples?

Present Day

Aria walked around herself. Pausing, she mused and squinted at her younger self. She stood poised, frozen, as the rest of the world was frozen in grey. The two great lizards towered over her. Seven feet, she measured, then eyed the Solar. The Solar looked less than amused. Aria gauged at least the Solar was at least three heads taller than the lizards.

"Why are we stopping here?" Aria poked her younger self's cheek; there was no response. "A chance to pause, to reflect? I hope we're not going to examine everything in excruciating detail."

_"You miss this place."_

She shrugged.

Silence seemed to hang in the air.

"Shall I tell you what happened?" Gathering her will, she focused on the moment and the mists parted. "Heeeh." She frowned and mists drew together, then parted.

_"Godchild…"_

Aria stuck her tongue out.


	36. Home III

Home III

Aria didn't need Aliana's whispers to guide her. They sensed and feared her power; the tribe was already weakened. Speaking their tongue, she negotiated entry to the ruins, pointing out her village's ancestral claims. Warning the two lizards that trespassing disturbed the guardian spirits, that the site was sacred, she claimed an audience with their shaman. Faetix poked his head out and issued the guards an imperious look, before kneading and nestling.

Escorted by the two, she strode in the old cellars. With broad gestures, she explained the spirits were already angry because her village was attacked. Then slowly, carefully, she withdrew the severed head. Alarm ran through the gathered lizardfolk, but the shaman remained cautious. Concerned murmurs rose.

Carefully, the shaman outlined that the tribe had been driven out by 'shadows'. A ripple of unease passed through their ranks. Even more carefully, the shaman allowed that a few members of his tribe had been keeping watch and seen the 'shadow hunters' heading towards the village. The lizardman indicated the bladeling's head. After questioning the shaman more about what the tribe had seen, Aria offered a bargain. She would have to speak with her 'tribe's' elders, but perhaps the two tribes could aid each other. Shelter and supplies; their sacred site as a refuge.

Aliana whispered her praise, and Aria went to the corner of the room, knelt and uncovered the flagstones. Daeghun's bag was there, just as he said it would be. Replacing the stones, she slipped the bag into her cloak, rose, and left. A large lizard went with her.

The mists reformed. Aria sat inside the backroom of the "Sunken Flagon", a tavern owned by Daeghun's half brother, Duncan. Marshal Cormick was with her. Duncan was informing them of the news: shipping disrupted, roads plagued by bandits, strange creatures sighted, the locals becoming rattled. He wiped the table with a rag and stuffed it back into his apron. Aria admitted that she had bypassed the bandits by quaffing potions that Tarmas gave her; potions that left her unseen by the eye. Cormick clapped his hand over her forearm, took a long draught from his flagon and leaned in.

"Don't you believe a word of it."

"Cormick." Aria protested, trying to wiggle loose. Faetix fixed the marshal a long, warning look, sniffed and wrapped himself in Aria's braid.

"So Fort Lock is under Tann's command, but he's been taken hostage by bandits. The Fort's undermanned, and Tann has personally gone out on patrol, and they snatch him in broad daylight. And this is the afternoon after I leave for West Harbour. Vallis claimed he couldn't 'spare' the men to launch a rescue, so he wants me to agree to negotiate a ransom. He sends two men with me." Cormick shook his head and Duncan shook his. "Galen's got a couple of hired swords with him, and he agrees to their loan. Aria here has caught up to us and tells us of the attack; I couldn't believe it, West Harbour attacked? All those bonfires from the harvest and we never even saw the smoke. We're three, four days out from the village, but Vallis won't send a single man to help. And he's got a point about the bandits, but I know Vallis. He doesn't care. Poor lass carried that head for days and hells if he'd even send a messenger to Neverwinter."

Cormick put his flagon down.

"Why were you meeting Galen anyway?" Aria tried to change the subject.

"Oh, he's an old friend."

"Informant more likely." Duncan chuckled.

Cormick rolled his eyes. "Keep that to yourself. Neverwinter's eyes are known to pry."

"I don't know why you didn't relieve him." Aria muttered and drew circles in her ale.

"Politics, lass." Offering a broad-shouldered shrug, Duncan started polishing his tankard's rim.

"Aye." Cormick sighed. "I wanted someone I could trust at my side. Vallis' men and two hired swords aren't exactly my first choice."

"So you dragged me along."

Cormick grinned. "I've seen how you hold a bow." He took another draught. "You can imagine how much the bandits were asking."

Duncan suggested a sum.

"Worse."

The half elf innkeeper winced.

"So we reach the camp, and there's their leader. He tells us his price, and I'm thinking that my career's over; even if we get out of it alive, Neverwinter will never pay that much. Galen's swords are looking at the camp and I can just see them thinking about the meagre wages or the loot they could get from seizing me. Tann's tied up and off to one side, and he's giving me the 'you shouldn't have come here look'. We're ringed by bandits; half have their bows ready to loose on us, the other half have all manner of clubs and maces. But then Aria says bold as you like, 'Wouldn't amnesty be better? Banditry's an easy life when there's caravans to loot, but from what I hear, there haven't been any of late.'

"And their leader? He just stared at her, like he'd seen a ghost. 'Look just like her', says he, and she looks straight at him and says, 'We're all tired of war. How many of you are deserters? Loot's no good if you can't eat; how many villages'll you sell these back to? You won't be holding onto your spoils more than a couple o' tendays, I reckon; there's lizards coming out the Mere and something's got 'em spooked. Villagers are gonna be flooding the roads soon, and then who'll tend the crops? Lizards won't. And let me tell you, this ain't no raid by a couple o' hungry cold bloods too lazy to hunt their own swamp. This is entire tribes. Won't be long until they're knocking on Neverwinter's door, and then the city'll need every arm strong enough to hold a spear it can get. Do yourselves a favour and enlist now 'fore you're 'scripted. Gallows or the 'cloaks ain't no choice at all.'"

"What'd they have to say to that?" Duncan looked impressed.

Aria gave Cormick a look. "I did not speak like that."

The Marshal grinned. "Course you didn't, lass." He winked at Duncan. "Well, then he asks 'An' what'd a lass like yeself know about lizards?' She draws herself up, fearless as you please and looks him dead in the eye. Now Tann's there this whole time and he's just holding his tongue.

"'You were there during the Wailing Death. There's a look in a man's eyes that never goes away.' How she knows this, I'll never know, but he just looks as if he's seen a ghost. 'You want to crawl back into a hole or a bottle and forget those days?' And he just mutters, 'Yer too young to have been there…' But she's having none of it. 'There was a last stand, the survivors, 'cloaks and any able to hold a spear, sword, club, even rocks. A barricade around Castle Never while the nobles cowered inside. But they were forgotten. They glory went to the relief from Fort Locke and Old Owl Well."

Duncan looked distant. After a moment, Cormick raised his flagon. Duncan raised his. The toasted in silence. A few moments passed.

"So then what?"

"They sign on."

Throwing back his head, Duncan howled with laughter, then wiped his eyes with his arm.

"That's _not_ what happened." Aria muttered. Faetix grumbled quietly; she reached to rub his eye ridges with her nails. The faery dragon sounded for all the world as if he were purring.

"'S how I remember it, lass." Cormick shot her another grin.

"That's too precious. And Vallis?"

"Tann had him strung up for being a traitor. The gutter-whore tried to ambush us on the way back."

"Unbelievable." Another headshake.

"Aye, and he claimed we were the bandits."

Aria rose. Cormick pulled her back down.

"So as soon as our new 'recruits' filed in, we began organising aid for West Harbour. Tann sent on an advanced messenger to assess the situation, and you won't believe what he found."

Duncan waited.

"They found _lizards_ helping to rebuild. Turns out the young lass here worked out some kind of deal with them. Who'd have thought it? Known her since she was in swaddling cloth, moved away a few years back, and now she's become some kind of diplomat."

"Cormick." Aria squirmed. "Stop it. It wasn't like that."

"Then there was Highcliff."

"Aye?"

"So the locals are having trouble with lizards. Seems the lass was right about lizards moving out of the Mere. The harbourmaster has the port locked down and the roads are still troubled. Bandits – I mean 'recruits' say that they're not the only ones operating in the region and I believe 'em. Lizards say the same thing. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

"So we arrive in Highcliff, and old man Mayne is more stubborn than a goat. Galen's getting agitated because he has wares to ship, and I'm willing to risk the road, but lass here wants to _talk_ to the lizards. The same lizards disrupting the shipping. So off she goes and starts talking with them. I never saw anything like it. 'Tribe' this and 'tribe' that, and they treat her like one of them. Lizards are running scared because of 'shadows', and it turns out there's some crazy necromancer animating the dead in the old keep. Well, I only brought a handful of swords with me, and the lass, but she convinces the lizards to join us. Well, I'm not so sure, but I'm not going to say no to having some help against a necromancer. It's not really my role to get involved at all, but we can't leave someone like that skulking around.

"After speaking with some farm girl – pretty lass – what was her name?"

"Shandra." Aria supplied taking a sip. Craning his neck, Faetix also took one, and hissed in displeasure.

"She was a little spitfire, telling us to clear off and cause trouble someplace else. Turns out she'd seen lights in the old keep at night. So off we march. We find him holed up in the old keep just like the farm girl says, and he says the strangest thing. Talks about how some 'shadow' is coming and even if we kill him, he'll rise again. Galen's swords are quivering, and my own lads are looking nervous, but the lass? She just puts an arrow through his tome, and the lizards charge in on her cue. So here's us while some little elven lass is leading lizards, and we just look at each other. So in we go. Hells of a fight, but we subdue him. But then he explodes, and laughs. Eerie.

"We burn the body, and we make sure to send the local priest up there; lizards took their shaman with them, and they agree to leave the shipping alone. Now, old Mayne refuses to deal with the lizards and wants them gone, but Aria's having none of it. Neither am I, but before I can say a word, she calls him out and shames him in front of the whole village. Says he's a stubborn old fool, and he's going to need all the help he can get. Then she starts asking the town how they'll manage against bandits, and they begin to mutter. They're not convinced, so she walks away, and then drags the necromancer's remains in front of them and points at it.

"She says that not a single one of them was brave enough to stand against him, and he was raising the old graves that were meant to be sanctified. She says that without the lizards, their village would've been overrun. Then she tells old Mayne that the lizards are having the sea caves and they're to be left alone unless they want to trade. 'Unless, that is,' she says, 'you want to fend off bandits alone. Cormick, tell 'em how many attacks there's been in the last month.' So I scratch my chin, and I tell 'em what Tann told me, and that West Harbour's just been attacked. At this point, the whole village just turns to Mayne and Aria says 'They stay', and walks off. Harbourmaster lets us board without a second glance and we sail on the tide."

"Quite a story." Duncan laughed.

"It's embellished." Aria slumped forwards, her flagon before her. Faetix hung off her braid, and had to right himself. "I've just wanted a decent bed for the last tenday. And a hot bath."

"And ye'll have one." Duncan rose. "Well, I've got things to attend to. I imagine ye have too." He offered his hand to Cormick. "Lass'll be safe enough here."

"Aye. You're a good man, Duncan."

The burley half elf laughed. "Don't go telling anyone else that."

Cormick chuckled with him. Once Duncan had left, he turned to Aria, his eyes serious. "Actually, I have need of some help."

She groaned and let her head flop onto the table.

"Think about it." He squeezed her shoulder. "You have a promising career with skills like yours." His eyes hardened. "And if you're right, West Harbour will need someone like you. Neverwinter will need you."

She raised her chin and peeked out between her arms.

"I don't like what I'm seeing, Aria. Something's got the Mere spooked. I've never seen so many lizards and I don't like how they're moving towards Neverwinter. No one here is going to pay attention; they're too involved in city politics. The truth is we've not fully recovered from the Wailing Death and the war with Luskan. The city is infested with criminals; half of them are nobles trying to line their own pockets, and the other half don't care."

"So what do you want?" She squinted at him. Outside the snow had started to fall again.

"I can make some inquiries but my influence here is limited. I'm not a diplomat. I think we should burn out the scum and reclaim the docks, but you have a different approach. Work with me, and Captain Brelaina will be more inclined to help."

"You just want to get promoted."

"Yes." Cormick admitted. "If it will help West Harbour."

She sighed. "I'm not a guard. It's not my thing."

"There's something else I had in mind."

"Does Brelaina know about this?"

Cormick glanced away.

"You've already talked to her about this." Aria folded her arms and sat up. Faetix tumbled into her hood and growled. "Cormick!"

"It's in my report. She made a suggestion. She wants to recruit you."

"For what?"

"She wants you to infiltrate Moire's gang."

"What? No! I'm not – I just want to get help for West Harbour."

"And as soon as we have the manpower, we can help. Do you know how many patrols we waste on the docks each night?"

"Oh come on, Cormick."

"Brelaina has promised to send aid. Not just men, but supplies. There's a reward for anyone who helps bring Moire to justice."

"So you want me to help so we can use this 'reward' to help West Harbour?"

The marshal didn't reply.

"Amie's _dead_, Cormick."

"I know."

"Bevil almost died."

"I know."

"I won't do this."

"I didn't think you would." It was his turn to sigh. "I wouldn't ask if this wasn't important. But everyone we've sent in has died."

"Thanks, Cormick. That really helps."

"Will you listen?"

She rolled her eyes.

"They can tell. You aren't one of us–"

"Yes, that's something that's abundantly clear."

"Ariana!"

"Don't call me that!"

"Aria. You can be what we can't."

"I won't do it. I'm not a criminal. I'm going back home to help. I'm not even – gods, how could you even think of sending me? Highcliff knows me, Fort Locke knows me; I'll be _killed_."

"No, you won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"The best way to help West Harbour is with coin. The village will need to fortify itself against these 'shadows'. You can only do so much if you go back. Here, you can operate without constraint."

"I said I won't do it."

"Is there anything I can say to make you reconsider?"

"No." She stood up. Faetix glared at him. "I'm going to bed. I don't want to hear about this again, Cormick."

"I'm sorry. This isn't fair. I just… don't have anyone else here that I can trust." He rose and turned away. "You're right. Go home. Help where you can. I'll do what I can here. Put out a call, maybe hire some help."

Aria sighed. "That isn't going to work, Cormick."

He turned. "I thought I could make a difference here. Turns out that I can't. You have to have people you can trust."

"The whole city can't be corrupt."

"No, but how do you know?"

She sighed again. Aliana whispers resounded in her mind.

"Would it help if I asked you to name your price?"

"You're not that desperate."

He didn't answer.

"I don't want to get involved."

"You're too talented to stay in West Harbour all your life." Anger touched his eyes for the first time. "We could make a difference here. You care about the villages in Highcliff, the refugees at Fort Locke. You convinced Tann to help them because you helped him. He owes you. His word carries some weight with Brelaina, and Brelaina reports to Lord Nasher. With her support, you could find a patron."

"I'm not interested in any of that."

"Then what do you want?"

"I… want Amie back." She closed her eyes. When she opened them, she looked straight at him. "I want to find my father."

"I can help you with that."

It was her turn not to speak.

"You'll need resources. Men like Galen. People to ask in inns, taverns, around towns, villages. Anywhere he might have stayed. For that, you need coin."

Then she drew a breath and rummaged around and withdrew the silver shard. "And this. Daeghun gave it to me the night West Harbour was attacked." Reaching across the table, she handed it to him.

"I've never seen it before. It seems to be some kind of metal, enchanted maybe. I'll make some inquiries."

"I don't know." She confessed. "I'd not until that night."

Running with two fresh flagons, Duncan ran his hand through his hair. "Maybe I can help ye." Slowly, he turned; she watched him leave, his shoulders suddenly wearied. He returned a short while later with a wrapped bundle and pushed it in front of them. After a moment, she opened it; a second shard, much like the first, gleamed up at her.

She went numb.

"We only found these two after that night…" Duncan confessed. "We kept them. We never did find out what they were."

"But… why would Daeghun want me to have it?"

Cormick looked equally intrigued.

"Shayla died that night." The innkeeper's voice was low, sad, "these things weren't there before that night. It's a memory, a painful one, and if Daeghun wanted you to have it, then he has his reasons."

"But you don't know what those are?" Already knowing the answer, she tried not to sigh. "I guess it doesn't hurt to look into it. But my priority is West Harbour."

With a smile and a clap to her shoulder, Cormick signalled his unspoken approval.

"I guess that if ye have one, ye may as well have both." Duncan scratched his head. "Put it away, lass. The mystery'll keep. But Cormick's right; ye'll not get far without coin or support."

She nodded.


	37. Moire

Moire

The City Watch's guardhouse burned. A torch hung limp in Aria's hand. As she watched the flames soar into the night, she wondered how she had arrived at such a juncture. Cormick led her to the guardhouse in chains, following a violent tavern brawl. She spent the night in a cell. A couple of street thugs sat in the cell beside her. 'Ain't seen you here,' the first one said. The second one had stayed silent, squinting. 'What are you 'ere for?'

She had shrugged, then kicked her boot against the flagstones. Hours later, they let her go. She headed back to the tavern. Along the way, she was pulled off the street.

'They say you punched the marshal. They say 'e owes you coin and won't pay up. Moire wants a word.' Caleb, Moire's henchman.

Aria found herself looking into the eyes of a killer. Beautiful eyes. The half elf was lean, graceful. Aliana murmured her features belonged to the Moonshae isles. Moire leaned forwards, a small smile playing across her lips; that smile never touched her eyes. Aria occupied the floor after Caleb left her in the small, dark room. Legs together, bent, she lent on her elbow and drew circles against the wooden board with her fingertip. She had felt Moire's eyes before the half elf appeared.

Moire simply watched.

Finally, Aria opened up. "They wanted me to spy on you. I did Cormick a service and he refused to pay, so I hit him. He owes me coin, but I owe him nothing."

"Are you lying to me?" Moire leaned in closer.

"I'm not that stupid." She sat up. "You'd kill me if I did. I've nothing against you. But Cormick's trying to blackmail me. I want to get even."

"Is that why you're here?"

Aria shrugged. "I don't know why I'm here. Your man dragged me in."

"Most are terrified when they come in here. Don't you know who I am?"

She shook her head. "You might be working for Cormick."

Moire laughed without warmth. She patted Aria's cheek.

_"Careful." _Aliana urged.

"I'm not asking for a job." Aria thrust her chin out. "You want to know why I punched Cormick. That's why. I'm not being disrespectful, and I don't know anything about you."

"No, you don't." Moire's hand caught her chin. "You're well spoken." She turned Aria's head. "A slight accent. A villager?"

"I was a wizard's apprentice. He schooled me. So did my father, not that I see how it's of any concern."

"You can use that bow?"

She smiled. "Maybe I carry it so bandits think twice."

"Don't be cocky."

Aria drooped. "Sorry. You asked. May I go now?"

"Where will you go?"

"Tavern. I just want a drink and then to get out of here."

"I thought you wanted to get even."

"Sure, but I don't see how. Cormick's got that bitch Brelaina in his pocket. Or she's got him in her bed. She threatened me. Said if she caught me in _her_ city I wouldn't need to 'make trouble'." Aria sighed loudly, then lifted her eyes sidelong towards the half elf. "Are you really Moire?"

"I thought you said you didn't know who I was."

"I don't, but that bitch does. She said that she could have me strung up for being one of Moire's."

"Why would she say that?" There was a glimmer of madness in those clear eyes.

"I broke her boy's nose."

Moire smiled.


	38. Aria's Neverwinter

Aria's Neverwinter

"Satisfied?" Aria faced down the Solar. "Or do you want to see all the horrible things I had to do? I didn't want it, I didn't want any of it. I had to extort that poor shopkeeper and threaten his daughter; there was that weapons' crate and that business at the warehouse. I tried to forget all of it. I even had to burn the city watch's headquarters in the docks to 'prove' my loyalty. Caleb hated me because of how Moire took me on."

_"Was that all you did?"_

Aria flushed. "No, but I don't see how it's relevant."

_"You loved her."_

"Maybe. But it doesn't matter. I don't know what I was to her, but she loved her man, the dead one. She lost her family during the Wailing Death, when the greycloaks failed to keep out the Luskans. They would have done terrible things to her had they caught her, but they didn't. She became what they were, worse than what they were, and no one cared enough to look."

_"Except you."_

"Except me." With a sigh, she scuffed her toe, and lay back down on her elbows, her head lolling against her palm. "She slept with knives in her hands. Not under her pillows, but in her jerkin. I slept on a rug at her feet. Her pet. Did she ever trust me? Was I really ever a protégé to her, a daughter? Was I something else?"

_"You betrayed her."_

"I don't know. Maybe. Did she betray me? Brelaina failed in her promise. I could have delivered Moire, if I had been able to slip that sleeping potion into her wine. She made me taste all her wine first. I could have quaffed an antidote." Aria shook her head. "So many small jobs. Little things, binding me to her. And then… there was Axel. He was the only one who could keep her in line. He was… terrifying. Moire might have been mad, but he was… a politician. He was a lord, like Nasher, in some ways."

Aria drew in a deep breath. "I wonder what any of it was for."

_"Shall we see?"_

* * *

Her name was Elanee. A she-elf druid of the Circle of the Mere. The mists showed how she watched Aria from afar, how her Circle had assigned her with the task since West Harbour was first attacked. It revealed Daeghun scouring the battlefield after the fires had burnt out, how he had plucked the shard from out of the ground. The druids had not seen him retrieve the shard, but felt the foul magics involved in the battle, watched as Shayla died, how Aria had survived, and chosen to watch.

Aria had felt the elf's eyes on her in the Mere, slipping away sometimes, ignoring it other times. She felt her that night after West Harbour was attacked a second time. Earlier that night, the mists revealed the elf pleading with the members of her Circle when the strange creatures attacked, but they remained aloof; she wept as West Harbour burned. While Elanee grieved, Aria evaded her observer, and quietly left the village. For a time, she no longer sensed the druid's presence. Then, one day, she came face to face with her for the first time.

Aria sat within 'the Sunken Flagon'. She had just finished giving Faetix a bath in a bowl, and had him bundled up in a fluffy blanket and was rubbing oil between his scales when an obnoxiously loud, burley dwarf, burst in. Half a step behind, a horned tiefling shoved him, her tail swishing this way and that, and then Elanee entered gracefully, the door closing soundlessly behind her.

His head rearing, Faetix bristled. She stroked his head with her forefinger and he calmed.

The dwarf and tiefling bickered, even as he demanded ale; she demanded he move and plonked herself down with feline movement and an utter lack of ladylike elegance. Elanee scanned the room, ill at ease. The patrons' conversation had ceased; in one corner sat a man Duncan had identified as 'Bishop', roughly shaven with a permanent sneer etched into his eyes. Aria recognised it as self-hatred even as Aliana warned her to be wary. There was a blasé lilt to his movements, self-deprecating, but he had the eyes of a killer. A skilled killer. He had never uttered a word, but downed flagon after flagon. She didn't know where he slept, but he had no contact with Moire and none of her people ever disturbed him.

Elanee's eyes briefly touched his, and there was a flash; perhaps of recognition, but then her gaze broke and locked with Aria's.

She remembered freezing; those golden-hazel green eyes, that sense of the familiar. It rushed against her all at once. The dwarf and the tiefling never noticed. Then the druid turned away and joined them. Bishop watched from the rim of his flagon. As Sal, the barkeep, served them, Duncan moved over to Aria. Sal was Duncan's hireling, and knew when to speak up and when to keep quiet; the trouble was he liked to talk. Khelgar, the dwarf was named; Neeshka, the tiefling. They fought like siblings. Elanee seemed to be something of an older sister and tried to keep the peace, but her attempts to calm the duo seemed distracted. Her eyes kept straying, and Aria was acutely aware of Bishop's silent observation. The patrons soon returned to normal.

Outside, the ashes of the city watch guardhouse cooled. She had achieved her task; proven her loyalty. Moire had eyes following her, and she couldn't risk her cover. Cormick had been quite clear: whatever it took, no matter the cost. She couldn't think of the guardsmen inside; she had deliberately set it so the smoke would be seen, smelt. There was a rush, but by then, the blaze was an inferno. Torches, oil, and spells to breech the magical protection against the elements. Sand, the only mage in the docks close enough to come to assist, had been 'delayed'. Sand was an acquaintance of Duncan's, an elf who had supposedly fallen out of favour with the court, Sal had confided. Caleb and his thugs had seen that Sand's shop had been blockaded with a misplayed train of carts. Sand, too, was outside of Moire's reach, but whether or not he paid 'protection' was known only to her.

Duncan didn't acknowledge their relationship, but Aria needed to be somewhere public, and Caleb's thugs occupied the tavern at different tables. A goblet of firewine sat untouched in front of her. She raised her eyes to the somewhat unlikely trio. The dwarf, Khelgar, was arguing over being seasick, while Neeshka seemed to be impersonating him. Rowdy didn't begin to describe them. Elanee's unblinking gaze met Aria's again. The Mere left its mark on those who walked within it; it was slight, almost indeterminable, but it was there. Not the smell of peat, but the movement, the way a person listened, watched, their reaction. The stones of Neverwinter were solid, with their own stories, but the swamp was always shifting, slowly marching. It was always the same, always changing. No wonder the druidess felt out of place.

Aria rose. At that moment, the city watch burst in, clubs in one mailed hand, bared steel in the other. Caleb rose with them, as did the rest of his men.

"You've gone too far this time," Cormick declared, his face flushed. "Arrest them all! Moire will learn that such crimes will not be tolerated!"

Khelgar and Neeshka rose in protest.

"Take them all!" The marshal waved his sword.

Caleb's thugs drew their knives.

"'Ere now," Sal began, "They ain't done anything; they's been in here all night, ain't that right Duncan?"

Duncan's face was scarlet. "There'll be no brawling in the tavern! I don't care if your cloak's grey or if you're one of the Nine! Take it outside!"

Cormick ignored him. "Seize them!"

The watch outnumbered the patrons three to one, and after the first few heads were cracked unconscious, the rest fell into line. Aria never raised a finger; Bishop was nowhere to be seen, slipping into the backroom before anyone noticed he was there. Elanee placed her hands on Neeshka and Khelgar's arms before they could retaliate.

"You'll hang for this, Caleb." Cormick commented as the man was dragged away. "Search every room."

Outside, the watch had formed a perimeter. Bishop was not in their custody, Aria noted. They were led into two barred carts in chains. Elanee sat beside her, her smooth face as calm as before.

Aria looked out into the night. The watch were breaking down doors and rushing into houses in gangs of five. She counted thirty. Exhaling, she closed her eyes. Moire had expected reprisals, even longed for it, Aria suspected. Her people were hitting a warehouse in another district right now; the half elf hadn't told her any more, but simply smiled. Blood would flow through Neverwinter's streets.

Before she ordered the strike, Moire watched her, as she so often did. Aria sat cross-legged on the rug before her. The room was dim, the ring of guttering candle throwing shadows from its iron ring above them. "Do you know why I trust you?"

"I didn't think you trusted anyone."

Moire laughed. "You're learning, girl." Her finger slid under her chin. "Some of us remember the war with Luskan." Her eyes were wild, lost, mad. "Our heroes were torn down. You wouldn't remember."

"What heroes?" Cautious, curious, she looked up unflinchingly.

She stopped abruptly.

No one mentioned family around Moire. No one was foolish enough to. Aria pressed her cheek against the half elf's leather-clad thigh. Moire's slender hand slowly stroked Aria's hair.

"My child would have been your age."

Aria didn't answer.

"The Luskans took everything, but Neverwinter allowed them to."

She lifted her eyes. Moire's were cold.

"I saw them, the only two that tried to save us. Do you want to see their faces?"

What could she say to that?

"They made a statue of him, and then they 'forgot' his role. The people didn't forget. Some of them." Moire's hand squeezed the back of Aria's neck. "Their assault against the Luskan positions spared our district. It was all rebuilt, but we lived. They taught us we had to be strong for ourselves."

"Why are you telling me this?" She didn't pull away.

"It took a fire to rebuild the last time. It'll take another fire to set things right."

Aria swallowed.

Moire's fingers tightened; her look intensified. "I saw their faces. They walked the dead, the dying, and they fought in the streets. I saw them from an upper storey window as the fires raged." She stopped. "There were rumours of a child. That he took her as her mother swung." That smile, as if there was a private joke that only she knew, creased her lips. "Even the Shadow Thieves couldn't find him once he left. Some of the guards talked. Many visit the Moonstone Mask, girl." There was no mirth in her. "And the girls there will speak… for just as little coin."

"Are you going to kill me?"

"If you betray me."

Reaching up, she pulled down, turned into and kissed Moire's hand.

Moire stood entirely still, half tensed, half relaxed, composed, ready to kill in a breath.

"The true traitors are those that betrayed the city's people." Aria whispered.

The pale woman smiled.

Caleb had led her through the streets, between back alley houses, through adjoined attics, through cellar-tunnels. They arrived at a corner in the park. A bronze statue stood in one corner, shielded by a screen of trees and bushes so thick the grove was all but lost. "The hero of Neverwinter." Caleb intoned sardonically, tapping the plaque. It referenced the Wailing Death, the Luskan war. Aria stared into his face. An elven face.

"Here. Moire said to give you this." Caleb thrust something into her hands. A scroll. As she unwrapped it, she saw another face. A half elf's face roughly captured. "His Lady Paladin." The thug's thumb jerked towards the statue. "They hung 'er as a traitor in front of Castle Never."

Aria nodded slowly, alternately raising and lowering her eyes.

Caleb gave her a moment, then led her back.

Moire was waiting.

With that same smile, she handed Aria the torch. With a nod, she accepted, knowing Moire had known all along, bent her neck, and allowed Caleb to lead her outside into the night.


	39. Aria's Neverwinter II

Aria's Neverwinter II

If Brelaina had her way, the whole of the docks would swing, one of the greycloaks laughed. Aria remained still. Neverwinter had passed them by; under heavy escort, the guards seemed certain they had caught their culprits. Elanee touched her hand lightly. Aria looked up sharply. The she-elf smiled, but her eyes were sad. Neeshka and Khelgar were too busy arguing whose fault it was to have taken the ship instead of waiting an extra day.

She smelt faintly of peat, Aria realised. It was her robes. "What are you doing here?" She finally asked in their peoples' tongue, her words hushed.

"Looking for you." Elanee answered calmly. "And for one of my… friends."

"You shouldn't have come." Aria turned back towards the bars.

"I can smell the smoke and oil on you."

She didn't answer.

Elanee fell quiet.

"There isn't much time. Ask whatever you want." Aria told her.

"I should be saying that to you."

"If I had questions…" She sighed. "Why are you looking for me?"

"Those creatures that attacked your village and invaded the Mere. Have you seen any more of them?"

She shook her head curtly.

"My friend thinks they are here."

"Here?" Aria looked around.

"You do not need to pretend with me. I know your face. You are not surprised; no, you knew."

"I suspected." A pause. "Why did you watch me? All those years… you never said anything."

"You never called out to me." Elanee hesitated. "My… friends were unwilling to help. You have helped so many by your words and courage alone."

"Who is the dwarf? The girl?"

"Friends… I found. The dwarf was at the inn. We had a run in with the creatures that attacked you. They were searching for something, someone. The girl… we found her outside Fort Locke. I healed her wounds and she's travelled with us ever since. This city is her home."

She could have asked how the she-elf could trust her, how she could trust her. "I don't see how you could help." Her tone was light, almost flippant as she ran her finger along the bars. Then she hardened. "You didn't help the village."

"I… wept as your village burned." Elanee's eyes were distant. "My friends refused to help, forbade me from helping."

"The Circle of the Mere. Daeghun told me of your friends."

"You are a child of the Mere. Let me help you now."

"And what do you propose? That we escape into Neverwinter Wood?" She rolled her eyes.

"The thought had occurred to me. But I can speak up on your behalf."

Aria smiled. It looked like Moire's.

They were sorted into three cells, and separated in turn. Aria found herself dragged into Brelaina's office after Caleb.

"Leave us." Brelaina was attractive by some standards; her dark hair was cropped short, her tanned face weathered, and she was a soldier through and through. From the way she held herself, to her uniform over her armour, there was nothing ceremonial about her. Her dark eyes were sharp, piercing. She jerked her head and Cormick activated an orb on her desk.

From her knees, Aria waited, her wrists and ankles chained.

"Do you know what you've done?" Cormick began.

Brelaina silenced him with a single gesture. After studying her for a moment, she asked, "What are Moire's plans?"

"A war." Aria answered simply.

Cormick winced slightly. "We can't afford a war. Half our men are compromised or bought."

Brelaina nodded slowly as if she expected no less.

"You've been waiting for this opportunity." Aria ascertained, not taking her eyes from her. She could only assume the room was shielded from scrying by the device on the desk.

"Moire's overplayed her hand." Cormick admitted. "She can't hope to win a war. The men won't stay loyal to her if their city burns. Lord Nasher will send in the soldiers and they'll torch the docks if they have to. She'll be flushed out."

"I've done as you've asked."

"Not yet." Brelaina tapped a mailed finger against her gauntleted wrist.

"I'm not an assassin."

"She's more use to us alive. We'll set an example."

"We can't allow a breakout here." The marshal noted.

"We'll move them. We've bigger issues to deal with right now." Brelaina's eyes locked onto Cormick's. "We don't have the manpower for a war. The city watch is stretched thin, and those… sightings need dealing with. Moire can have her war but she'll have to wait."

"Every moment we waste…" Cormick pulled his breath short. "Fine. But I still say we let Moire deal with them. Maybe they'll kill each other."

Aria waited.

Cormick turned to her. "The creatures that attacked West Harbour; they've been seen in a warehouse. You'll be moved to Castle Never with the rest of Caleb's thugs. If Moire wants you back, she'll have to stage a rescue."

"She could hit the prison carts." Aria murmured. The office was functional; there was a red rug, with a gold trim, and an old desk. There were stacks of drawers in all the corners, lace curtains and broad bars across the windows.

"That's why we're moving you with magic."

Aria didn't answer.

"One of the Nine is leading an assault on the warehouse. They mean to catch them off-guard. I trust Moire will… ensure none of them escape very far." Brelaina's voice was cool to the point of chilly. Then she leaned forwards. "I want Moire to prepare. But Neverwinter's safety comes first. These creatures are a greater threat. We're establishing a perimeter."

"It'll be easier to strike her safe-houses." Cormick added. "She'll have to act quickly; Lord Nasher won't tolerate this for long. You'll be safe enough. It'll be over soon."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"So you'll tell Moire if she's fool enough to come for you."

She shivered.


	40. Just Reward

Just Reward

_"This is crazy."_ Aria shook her head. Aliana agreed, but whispered her guidance in the same calm urging as always. The cell was stone, and the walls were large enough to house a bed but little else. She sat alone. In the cell beside her, she knew Caleb sat. Outside on the plaza, a set of gallows was being erected. She shivered. Once away from the rest of the thugs, the two guards had treated her with surprising gentleness. She hadn't been searched like the others, and her bedding was relatively decent.

Carefully, she withdrew the scroll Caleb had given her and stared at Aribeth's image again. Slowly, she touched her own face, and drew upon her memories of the statue in the park.

During the chaos, Faetix had retreated into his favourite pouch and hadn't re-emerged since. Absently, Aria reached down and caressed his little head; he rubbed against her in his sleep. She didn't blame him; she wouldn't want to come out either.

In a cell a few doors down, Khelgar bellowed and hammered against the door. The tiefling yelled at him to 'shut up', and a muffled exchange followed. The guards ignored them.

Would Moire abandon her? She couldn't imagine the woman would stage a rescue. Capture meant the same thing as failure.

She wondered again how this could have happened. Closing her eyes, she lay back.

* * *

She awoke to the smell of hot food. Her guard winked at her. "Captain wants you alive long enough for you to swing."

"Thanks." She muttered back, and looked at the bowl. It was some sort of gruel but at least there were generous chunks of meat in it.

"Cormick's compliments, traitor." The greycloak raised his voice for the last word. More quietly, he added, "He says to tell you there's been a development. Something's happened at Old Owl Well. Orcs. You might be in here a while longer."

She nodded, then tried a sip. "Not like I'm going anywhere."

He grinned.

"How are the others?" Aria lowered her tone. "Duncan, Sal, Sand, and Elanee, Khelgar and the girl?"

"They're fine. Safer in here than out there."

Another nod, and another sip.

The guard handed her a wineskin and winked again.

She smiled her thanks.

The door closed with a slam.

She set the bowl down and sighed. How had the mission gone? Drawing her knees to her chin, she tugged the blanket around her and tried not to think of what awaited outside if Moire got to either Cormick or Brelaina. Would she dangle from the gallows mere feet from the bough that took her mother from her? She stared out the window at the tree.

Could Moire be right? Could another fire be what was needed? But what if Cormick was right about the shadows from the Mere? She should have asked if there had been any more news. But if there had, surely Cormick would have told her? But something happening at Old Owl Well? Orcs might not have anything to do with the Mere's shadows. Old Owl Well was in the mountains, closer to Fort Locke than Neverwinter, or so Aliana had commented. She would simply have to wait. Elbows on her knees, she exhaled through her nostrils, and glanced at her bowl. She really didn't feel like eating.


	41. No Good Deed

No Good Deed

"My Lord Nasher is feeling lenient." Cormick announced in the hallway, a number of guards behind him. "Seems you bullyboys get to live a few more days after all." He stopped. "There's a shortage of folk in Old Owl Well. Congratulations. You've just become the Well's latest recruits. Just remember deserters are shot on sight. The mountains claim those that aren't. Not you, Caleb." Cormick didn't even smile. "Take them."

Aria rolled her eyes and lay back in her bed. A moment later, she was hauled to her feet. Cormick murmured a 'sorry, but it beats waiting here', as she was dragged off. Neeshka was spitting hells for fury, and Khelgar was shoving back. Elanee was the epitome of grace and elegance.

"Save it for the orcs." Cormick commented. "Tyr knows, you'll need it."

"What about our stuff?" Neeshka screamed.

One of the guards laughed gruffly; in his hand was a large sack.

They were bundled through the portal moments later.

Towering around them, the hills stretched into distant mountains, which seemed to merge with the clouds. The air was bitterly cold. There seemed to be scant vegetation amongst the flurries of snow. A dwarf in Neverwinter livery barked orders. Some way before them stood a half-finished wall; a number of orcs were charging towards the defenders.

Aria blinked to clear her eyes. The world still seemed hazy. Her wrists and ankles were still chained.

"Get them out of those. Grab a weapon and defend the wall. I'm Callum, and that's all either of us need to know."

_"The Sword Mountains."_ Aliana commented. _"Netheril build this outpost. Twenty gallons of water a day were pumped through pipes."_

_"History, now?"_ Aria muttered internally, irritably rubbing at her wrists as the guard undid her shackles. The large sack had her bow and quiver, which she snatched without thanks. Rubbing warmth into it, she notched, drew half way, aimed and loosed. An orc fell. The bow seemed to sing in her hands, as if the wood itself felt ancient hatred, the arrows flying of their own accord.

Callum observed from the side. The others grabbed what was theirs; the street thugs grabbed what they could, and Elanee was calm throughout, taking rather than seizing. Neeshka hung back, but Khelgar roared and charged in. Aria could have sworn he was grinning. The assault was over shortly after it had begun. Three of Callum's greycloaks were dead, and four more injured. A dozen or so orcs had fallen. Three or four fled.

"They're testing us." Callum commented, casting his gaze over the outpost. "Get back to building up that wall!"

Elanee excused herself without words, tending to the wounded and dying.

Aria didn't answer.

"That was–"

"Khelgar, shut up!" Neeshka complained as the dwarf began. Their breath hung in the air.

"They'll be back before the sun goes down." Callum squinted and glanced at Aria. "You're quite the marksman. Interesting group Brelaina's sent. Thugs and misfits."

"What exactly's going on here?

"The orcs seemed to have united under one leader for a change instead of fighting amongst themselves. Happens every so often. We're hard pressed and Neverwinter's meant to be sending reinforcements. Seems you're all I've got today."

"Neverwinter has problems of its own." Aria stretched. "Brelaina's got a war going down in the docks with the Shadow Thieves. Fort Locke's was beset by bandits up until a tenday ago until someone convinced the bandits to sign on."

"Is that so?" Callum rubbed his chin. "Wouldn't have anything to do with Cormick, now would it?" He tapped his jaw. "You shoot like you know orcs."

She shook her head.

"As it so happens, I could make use of that bow of yours. Can you track?"

"Depends what I'm hunting."

"I need to make contact with someone. Whoever he is, he's been holding back the orcs by striking their camps. The few we've captured have a name for him: Katalmach. Trouble is, he's hard to find."

"How do you know he's not a she?"

"I don't care if he's a him, a her, an it or both. He's all that's keeping the full brunt of those orcs off us. Find him for me and whatever past you come from will be forgotten."

"How do you know you can trust me?"

"I don't. But I'm keeping those boys here, so you can take your kinswoman, the horned girl and him with you."

"And none of your men?"

"You ask a lot of questions, girl. Whoever he is, he won't touch anything with a greycloak. I've tried. Maybe you'll have more success."

"Anything else I should know?"

"Aye." Callum glanced towards Caleb's men, drafted to help build the wall, and lowered his voice. "Cormick and Brelaina say you're good at what you do. Now I don't know Cormick well, but Brelaina gets things done. Truth is, I can use all the help I can get. There's an emissary from Waterdeep that was due to arrive days ago. If he isn't dead, we need to find him. Waterdeep's meant to send aid, but they won't send anything without their ambassador's say so."

"What's the name?"

"Issani." Callum grimaced. "I don't care about the politics, girl. Just get what needs to be done, done. Take what you need and go; we'll talk more when you're back."

"Just like that, huh?" Aria shook her head.

"Aye, just like that. His eminence could be anywhere in those mountains, but if he has been captured, my guess is you'll hear about it."

"So you want me to ambush some orcs in snow, make contact with this 'Katalmach', and rescue an emissary from Waterdeep? Anything else?"

"Aye. If you can put an end to the chieftain holding the tribes together, they'll fall to fighting amongst themselves and we won't need Waterdeep or Neverwinter to reinforce us."

"Unbelievable." She muttered. "I'll see what I can do."

With that, she walked towards the wall. Elanee, glancing up from her patient, had alarm written all over her. "Neeshka, Khelgar, go with her." The she-elf waved. "I'll catch up."

Aria kept on striding, not quite muttering to herself. Crawling out from his pouch and making his way under her hood, Faetix chirped, content with the cool air.


	42. Present Day: An Account

Present Day

"We tracked them for days." Aria reflected. "They were going to ambush us, but we smelt them in the freezing wind. They smelt us, Khelgar. Him and Neeshka were such a strange pair, funny, like siblings or quarrelsome lovers who didn't realise they had feelings for each other. It was hard to tell which."

Shaking her head, she wondered aloud, "The 'Katalmach' found us. A Paladin of Tyr; Casavir by name. He was… strange. His sergeant Katriona was interesting. They might have been watching us for hours, days, or perhaps they were watching the orcs. Either way, their intervention was timely."

The Solar listened, her eyes not leaving Aria once.

"I don't know what he saw in me, this Casavir, but he offered to assist me. Not us, me. The other three were less than enthusiastic, but he knew his way around the mountains, knew the orc strongholds. So we hit one. Then another. We went after them all. Through freezing fog, sleet, flurries, snowstorms. The snowed up passes were waist-deep. I wasn't cold, but Neeshka? She huddled shoulder to shoulder with Khelgar. It was my cloak, gloves and boots; the Seldarine enchanted them against the winters. We rarely risked fires. The nights bit deep, but we bit deeper. We fell upon our prey without honour. I don't know how many we killed, how many I killed.

"My bow, she sang. It was eerie, as if the wood had gained a voice of her own. Her arrows sang too. In the initial ambush, I must have felled five. Casavir and his raiders struck the rest in the back, while Khelgar slew them from the front as if he were a giant, not a dwarf. Elanee stood to one side, and she drew strength from the ground. Neeshka… she ducked and dove, and none of the orcs could strike her. Her daggers bit into a couple.

"And then… then we stormed their first encampment. They weren't expecting us, I think. Casavir, yes, but not us. I found a cliff ledge… I shot the sentries. One, then another. Neeshka took care of the one on the ground. Then we butchered the few that were there, took their supplies, and burnt the rest. A slow fire, but one that consumed the encampment. The pillar of smoke rose into the low cloud. It was a message.

"Casavir was… something else. He struck and they fell. We took wounds, of course, but Elanee tended to them. Neeshka took an arrow in the midriff; it punched through some of her leather, but she wouldn't let Casavir near her. She said it 'itched'." With a slight sigh, Aria shook her head again. "The orc was named 'Logram Eyegouger', their chieftain. I could have tried negotiating with him, but we found a necromancer there. The same as the one from Highcliff. We also found the Waterdeep emissary.

"I… never stormed anywhere before. We were cut off, but we moved with speed and as much stealth as we could muster. We masked our tracks, and used magic to hide ourselves from their shamans' scrying. In the narrow tunnels, we stood five abreast, sometimes less. Khelgar and Casavir, and the rest of the paladin's raiders… some of them left us to form 'distractions'. Those that did… some didn't return. Katriona stayed with us but only because I insisted. It was so confined, and they hurled bottles of oil at us whenever they could, tried to collapse the roof on us. They couldn't stop us. They came at us in twos, threes, sometimes five or six. We ran into a number of larger rooms where we had to fight fifteen at once. But always, we encircled them, Khelgar and Casavir charging after Neeshka drank some potion; we lured them into narrow places where their numbers turned against them.

"When we finally found Logram Eyegouger, he was in his hall waiting for us. Casavir fought him, and his guards fought us. Neeshka's dagger put an end to Eyegouger, hamstringing him with one, and piercing his neck from behind with the other. I… never wanted to do that again, but I felt so _alive_. It was… terrifying, and yet, with each kill, I felt my blood pound, as if it were singing. I felt strengthened, drawing power as I killed. Not just killing, but when I slew my foe before they saw me. That was when I felt most strong, as if, somehow, there were whispers inside of me urging me to slay. To… murder."

Aria paused. "I understand now, of course. Aliana told me, explained it to me later, long after I sat on the steps to Logram's throne of bone and hide, with blood splattered across my face, my cloak shedding the blood as if it could not stick. It was sticky, sickly; a stench to it. It was in my hair. I had to tear my arrows out, even dig them out with a knife. I kept the heads, made new shafts when I had to. The hall stank, not just of blood, but of filth. It stank of death long before we started our slaughter. I burned it. All of it. With the oil we took, I spread it, into each room, down each passageway as we left. We loaded Eyegouger's plunder into sacks and we dragged it out. We could have left it, let it burn, but West Harbour… with my share of the spoils, I could be free of Neverwinter, or so I thought, hoped…

"We returned to Callum, Casavir in tow with Eyegouger's head on a spear. They knew each other, somehow, Callum and Casavir. Neither said much, but they did. Casavir was willing to follow me back to Neverwinter. He had been disgraced some years before, I think. I never asked. I still don't know what he saw in me. Maybe my mother, my father; perhaps it was my bow? I told him he should stay with Callum, he and Katriona, and the rest of his followers. He wasn't happy, but he agreed. I explained that if I needed him I would send word. Old Owl Well still needed reinforcing, even with the orc threat subdued. There were still more of them.

"Callum never expected to see us again, I think. I'm not surprised he had given us up for dead. We were gone two tendays. The emissary was barely alive. Elanee healed him, tended and cared for him, and Callum, Callum ordered us back to Neverwinter. He sent us with a letter. Told us to 'escort' the emissary. Casavir wanted to guard us. It was vexing how Neverwinter's portal could send us to a particular place, but not return us. Perhaps it was for the best. In any event, Khelgar took us on a detour. We met his clan, and somehow, we negotiated an arrangement."

_"We, godchild?"_

"I, then. Why does it matter? They didn't want to listen to Elanee, and they certainly didn't want to listen to me. But I showed them my bow, my armour. I told them of 'Karador' and 'Elameth', the dwarven smith and elven enchanter, from the Hand of the Seldarine. I spoke of 'cooperation', and they listened. Not at first; at first they made demands, sneered, and Khelgar grew angry, but I calmed him. I'm not sure how I did, but for whatever reason, he listened. It was rather sweet, really, that he was indignant on my behalf. He bellowed that I'd slain more orcs in the past two tendays than the entire clan had in a year.

"That only set them against us, but I asked them to explain their grievances. They were suspicious at first, saying it was not for 'outsiders to know' but then, Khelgar claimed I had saved his life and if an 'elfspawn' could do that, and was willing to listen, then he'd tell me. Khelgar had left them when they felt he should not have. They had lost many to the orcs, and needed time to recover. Khelgar proudly proclaimed that we had slain Logram Eyegouger and I had led the assault, but they did not believe us. Then he produced Eyegouger's severed head. I didn't see him retrieve it, but he held it aloft, then tossed it at his kinsmen's feet.

"Then they listened. I asked them to treat with Callum, and while he was not of the Clan Ironfist, I hoped his being a dwarf would make Khelgar's kin a little more receptive than they would to say, an elf, or a human. They agreed to send a small band to Old Owl Well, and if Callum was agreeable, they would coordinate patrols and hunt the surviving orcs. I suggested that Casavir would make a strong ally. When they heard the 'Katalmach' had pledged his hammer to my cause, they were more receptive. I could have mentioned that first, but it would have been better to bring Casavir with me. I hadn't known, of course, that Khelgar had intended to pay a visit to his clan. I think Elanee had something to do with it, and perhaps Neeshka."

Aria sighed. "I was an outsider back then, for all Khelgar's words. Elanee, she was the only one who was from home, the only one who 'knew' me, and not even she knew my thoughts, for all her watching. But she understood me a little, more than a little, and I drew comfort from that, odd as it may seem. I don't know why I'm telling you all this. I never really thought of it, not truly. Here and there…

"Two months and more before, I was concerned with dresses, braiding flowers into hair and wanting to look pretty for the harvest dance. I never truly used my magic, only studied Tarmas' tomes and practiced cantrips. Apprentice's magic. Aliana taught me more, whispered to me. She taught me how to blend light and shadow, to walk unseen in the Weave. I learnt to walk within the Mere, never really needing to use what she whispered. But out there… with the orcs? I became a hunter, stalking them, striking from beyond their sight, my reach greater than theirs. I was not a duellist; I was an executioner. By the time we returned to Neverwinter, I was a seasoned killer."

Sorrow touched her words, her eyes, and turning away, Aria began to gather the mists, as if to escape her own damning judgement. Quietly, she wondered as the mists drew in around them, "When did I stop sounding like a girl? I sound like a soldier, a historian, a bureaucrat. As if I were someone else."

Compassion filled the Solar's gaze.

"He left his share with them, Khelgar. They didn't want it, not at first, but he insisted. Callum told us to take his cut back to Lord Nasher, and tell him to send more greycloaks to the Well. Casavir wanted none of it, but divided his amongst his followers. Elanee said hers should go to rebuilding West Harbour. Something in my heart softened… Neeshka just gave us this filthy look and said she was keeping hers; that she'd earned it. She walked off haughtily, tail in the air. Khelgar made a rude comment, then laughed; Elanee just gave her back this _look_. I didn't even shrug. Later I found out she was an orphan, raised by Helmites. I hadn't expected that of her, but she didn't never spoke of it. I didn't ask."

_"Why is that, godchild?"_

"Would it have made a difference? Maybe. Maybe I wasn't interested in the past, or I didn't want to pry, or maybe, I felt we all deserved a little privacy. I never spoke to anyone of Amie. She could have told me, if she wanted. Elanee was an orphan too. I was, in a way, and in another, I wasn't. It was in the past. We didn't need that burden while we were fighting for our lives. We might have drawn closer, but it had been less than a month." She traced her finger along the mist, then peered into them.


	43. Resumed Adventure

Resuming the Adventure

"Welp, I guess we're here. Sorta." Imoen looked around. Baldur's Gate was desolate, deserted. All around stood the ruined shells of burnt out buildings. "Kinda weird to fire your own city, less it was looters maybe. Who does this?"

Beside her, Aerie shrugged slightly, but the avariel's slender hand was in Imoen's left.

_"Back in the past, huh Solar?" _Aria rolled onto her back and stretched, her spine arching as her fingertips and toes pulled as far as they could. She yawned and retracted.

Imoen squeezed her friend's fingers. "Com'on, let's go see what's left. Deekin said he saw an inn up ahead." She headed towards a partially collapsed overhang; two rows of houses once lined the street.

"A-are you sure we should be wandering out here?" Aerie's eyes darted, her lips pressed together.

The auburn haired young woman met her with a smile. "Who's going to bother us? We haven't seen any footpads since everyone got drafted, remember?" She poked her. Scampering across the street, the rats swarmed freely. Overhead, the crows cawed, from the rooftops and the air.

"L-looters."

"I guess." Then she grinned. "Like us, you mean?"

Aerie giggled and covered her mouth.

"C'mon, maybe we'll get lucky and find a ship we can 'liberate'."

"C-can you sail a ship?"

"Well… no, but how hard can it be?" Imoen grinned wryly.

The mists shifted.

* * *

The docks held a few ships, most rotting husks. Khalid watched up and down the quay, and the streets leading to it; Jaheira leaned on her quarterstaff. Deekin stood on the harbour wall. Imoen was arguing her point, but Aerie looked nervous.

Jaheira rolled her eyes and pointedly asked if there was anyone left who could sail such a 'tub'.

"Hm." Imoen pondered. "Maybe this isn't such a great idea."

With a sigh, she gave up on the idea of finding others who could sail, looting the city for something useful, because even after the fire, the blackened and charred buildings couldn't _all_ have been picked over and decided the best plan was her original course: to find Aalin as soon as possible. At that point, she caught sight of what she swore was a ship on approach for the dock.

* * *

His name was 'Saemon Havarian', and he dealt in 'antiquities' he supplied, taking in the city with a single sweep. His oily suave saw Aerie cringe, and Jaheira tighten her grip on her staff, but Imoen simply grinned, ignoring Khalid's protective hand coming to rest on her shoulder. Deekin merely observed. Imoen asked where there was a market for such 'antiquities' and 'Captain Havarian' after weaving many words confirmed his destination was Luskan, hinting that Athkatla might not be the best of places to harbour in, 'if you catch my meaning, lass.'

Imoen strongly suspected that he had already smuggled supplies into the city, but smiled sweetly.

"Might ye be looking for passage?"

Now he was talking her language, and Imoen adopted a tragic 'how little we have' and began the negotiations in earnest, ignoring Jaheira's increasing disapproval. Her opening line began with 'what ill-tides of fortune have beset us…'

From her perch, Aria grinned at their banter. The Solar did not. "I think I like her," Aria admitted, then stifled a small laugh at the Solar's unvoiced disapproval.

They finally settled on a price they could both agree to; in exchange for passage, Imoen and her 'free company' would help load up the hold from the hidden cache that rightfully belonged to Havarian before the whole disaster struck. Jaheira pulled her aside and hissed that 'that man is not to be trusted'; it was Imoen's turn to roll her eyes, and she barely refrained from calling Jaheira out on stating the obvious. Instead, she asked very sweetly that if Jaheira had a better plan, she was all ears. Jaheira did not.

The cache turned out to be hidden in a cellar, which involved navigating a long, dank tunnel, and the cache itself turned out to be a number of barrels. 'Black lotus' Jaheira hissed in disgust; Imoen only shrugged. Havarian only had a crew of six, and at least two of them looked worse for wear. They found another group of passengers onboard, one 'Safana', and a man named 'Eldoth', who claimed to be searching for his 'student', a young woman, little more than a girl. He was her 'dance master' and drawled about 'duty' and 'obligation' to Safana, who seemed quite disinterested in everything he had to say and far more interested in plying Havarian with tales of a hidden cove. Her fingers stroked his sleeve as she spoke, and she pressed against his arm with her chest. Havarian seemed to be lapping up the attention, and spun tales of his own.

Aerie looked faintly sick, but Imoen grinned, and nudged her with her fist. Deekin helped roll the barrels looking vaguely bewildered and extremely curious, while Khalid and Jaheira exchanged grim looks. Both kept their weapons close.

The crew were tight-lipped, and few had more than grunts for Imoen's probes, no matter how prettily she smiled, played coy or asked nicely. Deekin had just as much luck, though his queries were far more innocent. He had heard of the 'great city of coin' to the south, and wondered what had happened to it since all the people in this town were gone. Eldoth gave the kobold a disgusted look and strutted off when it was clear Imoen and Aerie held no regard for him, and Safana equally ignored them. Havarian simply laughed and told them to watch the seas, as pirates roamed these parts.

It would be a while before they arrived in Luskan, he advised, so they should make themselves comfortable. Imoen laughed gleefully, much to Safana's annoyance, caught Aerie's arm, and turned her towards the late afternoon sun. Its rays splintered through the low hanging clouds, catching the windswept waves. Havarian had commented that Lady Luck had smiled on them; it was a sign of good fortune that his ship moored when it did, and good fortune for him as well, else he would have had to tarry longer than he'd have liked, and remaining in the Gate after sundown was not his idea of a peaceful night. Khalid and Jaheira watched from the ship's stern.

Imoen whispered to her friend that this was the first time she'd ever sailed; gripping her hand, Aerie whispered the same. Imoen's eyes shone.


	44. Present Day: Agency?

Present Day

Aria yawned and felt an irrational urge to poke at the Solar's foot. Instead, she propped herself up on her side, and commented, "Soooo, what was 'my sire' doing this whole time?"

The Solar regarded her and the mists began to gather.

"Really? Me again? Do I get a say at all?"

"Yes, godchild."

She sighed loudly and flopped onto her back. Green fire and storm clouds raged above her but were swallowed up by the mist.


	45. Back in Neverwinter

Back in Neverwinter...

Moire stood in front of a tall, dark haired and dark skinned man, her shoulders angled and her hips cocked. Beneath her sneer, her teeth were bared and her striking eyes were cold, almost dead. Axle Devrie remained calm. Moire's 'little ruckus' had come to his attention; while the City Watch headquarters in the docks burned, Moire's people had raided the warehouse district and seized a number of provisions and arms intended for Baldur's Gate, Athkatla and Tethyr. A number of lords had been assassinated in the Blacklake district, four in all, and this, along with Moire's actions, was the cause of their dispute. 'Lord Nasher', Devrie informed her coolly, would react in the harshest of terms to this, and the balance required maintaining 'stable operations' without bloodshed had been disrupted. Furthermore, she had just made herself a target whether or not she was involved with the murders. Finally, was she aware that her young 'foundling' had been conscripted and was returning to a decorated welcome when Caleb's rotting corpse still swung from the gibbet?

Moire's lips tightened, and Devrie warned her there would be an accounting. This time, she had gone too far, and the blade would fall on her neck, not his.

The mists covered the opulent study, the silver swirling over the crackling fire and vivid red rug. Aria shivered. Silence met her upward glance and relief flooded her.


	46. Never a calm spot, never a break

Never a calm spot, never a break

Brelaina greeted them brusquely as they trooped in. They had been met by a greycloak patrol long before they reached the city gates, and they, and the ambassador were escorted to Castle Never. The four of them, Elanee, Neeshka, Khelgar and herself, were guided to the city watch's main headquarters and subsequently handed greycloaks of their own in a short, formal ceremony. Aria decided it was hard to tell which of them was more dismayed; Neeshka openly boggled at it, Khelgar looked faintly disgusted and unsure, and Elanee wore a concealed grimace of distaste. As to herself, Aria felt her heart sink. She had to think of a way out of this, or at the very least try to convince Moire that she wasn't her enemy. For her actions, Brelaina informed her, she was being granted the rank of lieutenant and would report directly to her from now on. She added that she had personally requested her, or they'd all be on guard duty off with the army.

Aria found she couldn't swallow, or even make a pretence at thanking her. All she felt were the ropes binding more tightly, and instead of ropes, they were chains. Brelaina continued as if all four of them had saluted, and informed them that while they were gone, a series of murders had occurred, a shipment of arms destined for the southern cities had been stolen, and there were disturbing reports of strange beings operating around another warehouse.

Brelaina looked Aria straight in the eye. "Normally, we wouldn't bother with something like this; it'd be left to the higher ups." She read out a description and Aria's blood chilled. Elanee paled. "I see Cormick was correct. You are familiar with these creatures."

Elanee opened her mouth to speak, but allowed it to close. Her handsome features schooled themselves to their usual composure.

Brelaina pursed her lips, and didn't turn away.

Aria sighed, and not for the first time that day. "I understand."

"Good. It wasn't a request. You'll be attached to one of the Nine."

She raised her eyebrow slightly.

"Nasher's personal guard." Brelaina supplied, mistaking her intent.

"It must be important." Neeshka muttered. Khelgar managed to look impressed and disgruntled at the same time.

"To be clear: this is not about personal revenge. This task-force is there to quell enemy resistance and since you have experience, you've been attached to the squad. You'll take your orders from your commanding officer, Lieutenant. This isn't about honour; it's about getting a job done. Questions?"

Aria felt her throat constrict, and Neeshka nudged her with her tail. It was easy to forget the tiefling's tail, tucked away from the cold. Her little horns, less so.

"I…" Aria glanced haplessly at the other three. Elanee wore a stern but obstinate countenance; Khelgar's was just as set, but in a different way. The dwarf lived for battle. Neeshka had that expression on her; she wasn't getting left behind if Khelgar was going, and Khelgar wasn't about to let some 'prissy pointed eared elf' join battle without him. Elanee's gaze was serious and Aria understood immediately those lost that night still weighed heavily on the druidess. "When do we leave?" She didn't need to stress the 'we'.

Brelaina wore faint approval. "You'll be summoned an hour before. The operation's soon, but they can spare you while they move into position. Standard procedure is to surround the complex, and move in unnoticed with a small strike force. Rest up, you've had a long journey; you won't be part of the perimeter."

Then Neeshka glanced sidelong. "We do get paid for this, right?"

Stifling a chuckle, Brelaina answered, "Yes. I've already heard your report back from Sir Callum, and I've arranged that you'll be forwarded a bonus. It isn't customary, but neither was your assignment."

"Something wrong?" Brelaina asked as the others filed out.

"May I have a word?" Aria ignored Faetix climb out of her inner pouch and along the back of her cloak to nest in her hood.

The captain indicated she speak.

"What happened to that raid you were telling me about before we left for the Well? You told me there'd been a sighting there, and it was to be led by one of the nine."

Faint irritation or disgust touched her; it was hard to tell which. "Something spooked them. Or they found what they wanted. By the time the team got there, they were gone. Now they're back."

"Just gone? Magic?"

"Or the sewers, maybe. It's possible they slipped the perimeter but this time, Lord Nasher won't tolerate mishaps."

Aria made a face. Faetix head butted her gently. Without thinking, she reached up and rubbed his long neck and he started crooning. "So why do I feel like it'll be our fault if this mission fails?"

Brelaina gave her a wry look. "I see you're learning. I've had uniforms made up for you. You'll need to be fitted for them."

"_That's_ your idea of 'resting up'?"

The captain's face darkened, then amusement replaced it. "It won't take long. Now, if there's nothing else, lieutenant?"

She had to refrain from sighing.


	47. Surviving the Storm

Surviving the Storm

Moire found her as the sun was setting. Aria had left on the pretext of a walk, not that she had informed anyone, and left her new greycloak hanging in her room. As a lieutenant, she had been issued a box-sized chamber, more a walk-in cupboard, and the others were billeted in a bunkroom. Brelaina had separated them from the rest of the rank and file on account of their part in the upcoming operation, but told them to expect to join their fellow greycloaks afterwards.

Neeshka had rather pertly inquired about the security of these headquarters, and Brelaina assured her that this building held greater wards against fire and the patrols were doubled. If she would like, she could assign the tiefling to one; Neeshka promptly answered that she was quite content with the arrangements as they were. Brelaina issued a curt nod, and returned to her filing; Aria slipped away unnoticed. At the double doors, she was challenged, and addressed by her rank; she fixed the pair a long look, her best Elanee impression, and walked on. Faetix 'helped' by mirroring her before returning to his pouch.

As she wandered the streets, trying to memorise her bearings, a young urchin ran past her and stuffed a piece of paper into her hand. She glanced at his retreating back, and then at the address. Fortunately, she recognised the landmark for the street. Covertly checking she wasn't being tailed, she made her way to the house, only to be given another piece of paper by a different child. She frowned, but continued, keeping her eyes ahead of her, and glancing up every now and then, and stepping aside when a cart went past; that gave her an excellent excuse to check behind her.

The address was a merchant shop, and she stepped inside. A winery. Its beams were as thick and as dark on the inside as on the out, and she immediately noted the shop had chambers to it; the man on the desk waved her through the red curtain behind him. The door guard never moved.

A silent and concealed intake of breath later found her in the backroom and then descending to the cellars. Moire awaited. The cellar was windowless, lit by hanging lanterns, and lined with barrels. The lean half elf perched easily on one, her pose deceptively relaxed. Aria felt relieved she wasn't cleaning her fingernails with a knife tip, or something equally melodramatic, and deciding not to meet the challenge in those wild, cool eyes, she made her way quickly over to her, dropped to her knees and set her head on Moire's thigh, her arms wrapping around the gang leader's leg. It might have been the worst thing she could have done, Aria decided, but it was better than standing, fidgeting at the threshold.

Moire almost purred as her fingers wound in Aria's hair. "So you return, little kitten."

Pressing her face down, Aria closed her eyes, aware of the small hairs on the back of her neck rising, and droplets of sweat beading along her spine.

"Nothing to say, _Lieutenant_?"

She shook her head tightly, her grip tightening.

Moire continued to smooth and stroke her hair. For a while, she let this continue, then leaned down, "This city will betray you, as it did your mother."

Aria nodded, her eyes still squeezed shut.

"Do you know why you're not dead?"

Momentarily, the hair smoothing stopped, and then, resumed.

Her only answer was to cling harder.

Moire stopped. "Cat caught your tongue?" She leaned over, her voice low in Aria's ear.

Realising this was the moment to speak, Aria wet her lips and gingerly opened one eye. Moire's face was on top of hers, so close she could feel her breath. "I did what you asked." She tried hard not to flinch; that, at least, wasn't put on. The back of her neck felt more and more exposed. "Just like you told me."

"And so you did." Moire's fingers laced along Aria's back. "You did exactly what I told you."

"I'm not–" She wet her lip again.

"Not what?" The low purr rippled against her bared skin.

"…Coward."

Soft laughter pealed out musically from the half elf. "No?" Her fingernail scored along the back of Aria's neck lightly.

Just as tightly as before, she shook her head again. "I'm here because I'm yours, Moire. Otherwise I'd be dead."

"Good girl." Moire leaned back, and lifted Aria by the shoulders. Her eye were intense, cold, almost frenzied, "You're going to tell me everything you know and you're not going to make the mistake of assuming I don't already know, are you?"

"No, Moire." Her words were back to back, her heart in her throat. She didn't need to feign fear.

The half elf cupped Aria's cheek. "What's this operation the watch have planned?" Moire patted her not quite forcibly enough to be a light slap, "And don't leave anything out."

"My village was attacked." Aria began, trying not to let her rapid breathing speed her words. "By monsters. They killed my best friend; she was like a sister to me. Lieutenant Vallis wouldn't send aid; by the time I reached him, we had driven them back, but we were greatly reduced and many were wounded. Cormick was there, and I gave him a detailed description. I brought one of the heads as proof."

Moire waited while Aria wet her lips again.

"I put an arrow across the sorceress' eye, the one who killed my friend, but I hesitated. I was too slow. If I'd been faster…"

The half elf's fingers massaged Aria's neck through her hair.

She held back a strangled sob. "I let her die. But…" She lifted her face, "but because I know what they look like, they want me there. Because I hunted orcs for them." Anger touched her eyes, "They haven't agreed to send aid; they made me theirs with this 'promotion', so they can order me around. It… it isn't fair. It's just as you said."

Moire pulled Aria to her, holding the younger elf-kin's face firmly against her midriff. Her fingers toyed with Aria's fringe. "It isn't fair, child."

No longer certain she was acting, Aria's eyes welled, then spilt over. Other than Retta, who had practically adopted her, and Amie, the sister she'd never had, she wasn't used to being held. Since that night, no one had held her except the woman who held her now; a woman who was just as likely to savagely torture, then brutally murder her. Aria instinctually understood it was about ownership, the way she'd hold a pet, and intimidation, but at that moment, she didn't care. All she could think of was how 'they' had taken her mother from her, and then, Amie had been taken too. Hot sobs choked and wracked her body, stinging at her throat as she convulsed, no longer able to hold herself back. Aliana's silence remained oddly disquiet, allowing her the moment.

Moire's arms tightened, and drew her nearer. "They betrayed her," She murmured, "your mother and father both. They will betray you."

She nodded into her.

The gang leader pulled back, and lifted Aria's chin. "What will you do about it?"

She didn't know and stared helplessly at her.

Moire slapped her across the mouth, hard. It didn't draw blood, but she felt the force resounding through the cellar. Moire wasn't in the habit of repeating herself, and when Aria didn't answer, slapped the other side of her face, just as hard. Aware she wouldn't receive a third chance, yet still distraught, Aria yanked free and buried her face in Moire's lap, clinging to her.

The half elf leant over her and without warmth, repeated softly, "What will you do?"

"W-wh-whatever you ask." Aria forced out, and then as a smile crept across Moire's lips, breathed, "if – if I'm–"

Pale, icy fury flashed across the gang leader's eyes. "If _what_, child?"

"T-that."

Moire stopped cold, then dropped to her feet, and yanking Aria's head back by the hair, hissed, "What did you say?"

"Yours. Child." Aware she was on the brink of death, she stared up without blinking through tears. "Th-they stole mine. She – he – they… saved you."

Aria found herself released as suddenly as she had been manhandled. Moire strode a few paces, then wheeled. With dread certainty, Aria knew that she'd about to find herself impaled against the cask, ignored Aliana's warning to be ready to roll, and simply waited. The anticipated blow never came, not with steel.

"You call in that _debt_?" The words were low, as if she were right behind her ear.

Not answering would be perilous; the wrong answer, fatal. "I'll – be – yours."

Then the voice was in her ear. "You already are." The last was uttered as a hiss, and a short, sharp backhand caught her against the ear. Aria squealed in spite of herself, and Moire caught her chin, spinning her. Her hand rose again. Aria's eyes closed.

"You live because I permit you to live." The hiss was almost a snarl. "You ask to be mine?"

She nodded, eyes still shut.

Aria could feel the smile form on Moire's lips. Its warmth would never reach her eyes. Still on both knees, Aria tried not to flinch. "You're going to put a blade through that bitch, Brelaina."

"Y-yes, M-Moire."

Moire knelt in kind, and pulled her close; against her ear hole, she breathed, barely audible, "We will make this city pay. We will rid it of all the traitors."

She hardly dared breathe.

"And you, my child, will be my little spy."

She nodded.

"And when the time comes, you'll plunge a dagger through Nasher and we will rule this city. His death will signal the purge, and you will finally be avenged."

Aria's arms snaked around her. Moire kissed her firmly. "But if you betray me, I'll make you beg me to skin you alive."

She felt her eyes light with fear, just as she felt Moire's smile, and a second, softer kiss. The half elf's eyes were crazed, devouring.

"They'll… they'll be wondering where…"

Amusement brushed the gang leader, and her cool seemed to return. "Go."

They rose together, and then, Aria hugged her around the waist fiercely, planting her face against her shoulder. "I won't betray you, Moire."

Moire's hand rose to stroke her hair and back. There was a slight arch to her lips.

As she turned and left without looking back, Aria felt sick; her whole stomach wanted to heave. Giddy relief tore at her, and she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time; most of all, she wanted to curl up into a ball and sob herself dry and let exhaustion claim her. Somewhere, deep, deep inside, she felt the stir of something; it felt… hungry, and not for food. That sent chills down her.

As she wiped her eyes clean, and patted at her reddened cheeks, she braced herself for Aliana's lecture. When it came, it warned her that she was playing a dangerous game, and there could be only one survivor. Moire would devour her unless she slew her first. The half elf was rabid, and too dangerous to be allowed to live. There was no room for love in her. At that moment, the cold realisation set in and she fully understood. She would never be free until she escaped this city.


	48. Present Day: Accountability, Truth

Present Day

"If you're going to ask whose side I was on, who I was loyal to…" Aria shrugged, and stretched slightly. "I don't know. I guess I was… divided. I didn't like Moire's cause and hated her methods, but what she said made sense."

The Solar's gaze was strangely gentle.

"It doesn't matter now."

_"Doesn't it?"_

"It's all over and I'm never going back, so… yeah." She cocked her head. "But I suppose _you_ think it still matters. Well… maybe. I don't know. It… it was hard. I… only wanted to help my village, find my father. I never asked to be caught up in any of it. If Cormick hadn't got me to join, maybe none of this would have happened. Yeah, I know what you're going to say: 'what else would you have done?'. I don't know. But… not this."

With a loud sigh, she flopped and scratched her cheek. "So, are you satisfied now? You got to see me cry."

_"It wasn't easy for you, godchild."_

"Yeah? None of this has been easy."

_"But you became her student."_

She shifted uneasily.

_"And Captain Brelaina's also."_

"I guess you'll want to hear about that. But I couldn't be sure Brelaina and Moire weren't working together. I wasn't sure who to trust."

_"But you trusted Elanee?"_

"Eventually…"

_"She taught you much about the Mere." _Returning to her usual calm tone, the majestic being observed,_ "But you were Aliana's student first."_

Aria nodded and closed her eyes. Then snapping them open, she cast a sly upwards glance, "Don't you ever sit?"

The Solar smiled.


	49. You are indeed family

You Are Indeed Family

The mists were more silver than grey and seemed to glow with an inner light of their own accord. They threaded, like tendrils stretching around clouds, the clouds holding darker tones. Aria drew her fingertip across the closest, catching it and coiling it; the tip grew white.

_"Will you stop that?" _The Solar asked less gently than before. _"Pay attention."_

Aria giggled and the thread she had caught flared white, spelling out her graffiti. _"Do you have somewhere to be, Solar?"_

The tendrils dissipated with the mists under the Solar's stern, unblinking stare. They revealed a cloaked figure, a she-elf, traipsing silently through the snow.

_"Huh. Who's that?"_ Aria paused the scene, and peered under the hood. _"She's pretty."_

Making a show of looking around, she frowned. The blackened Hand of the Seldarine struck out against the pale blue-mauve horizon, no larger than a tall tree from this distance. The clouds overhead were white, heavy. Snow began to fall, and snatched by the wind in flurries, battered the traveller.

Aria glanced up at the Solar in expectation. The Solar remained tight-lipped. Aria sighed and prodded at the snow.

* * *

Golems and smaller winged humanoids moved around the Hand of the Seldarine's towers. Homunculi. Dozens of them. The golems were animated rock, the homunculi clay. The latter were the size of a gnome with bat-like wings longer than their arms. Most held picks and shovels, others held axes and worked the mechanical saws. They were rebuilding the fortress' towers. Instead of a ruined claw, the Hand of the Seldarine resembled an armoured fist. Many of them worked on an outer wall; others dug a ditch, and others still worked on the scaffolding.

_"He has been busy, hasn't he?" _Aria gave a low whistle. _"That _is_ him, isn't it? I wonder what the fascination with this place is? Huh. That's a little creepy. He gave them faces."_

The mists shifted and found the hooded elf outside the fortress wall. There was no main gate. There were no gates at all. A projection appeared; Aalin, though he stood cowled too. They each stood waiting.

"I have found you at last." Her voice was wispy, harsh, self-deprecating and cold. Her face remained veiled.

"Is that so?" Amusement touched his words.

"You've led me on a merry dance." Irritation flared. "Did you think we've been wandering Faerûn like witless cattle?"

"I haven't been hiding."

She laughed harshly, "No, you ran away."

"Ran away?" A low, soft chuckle, "Some might say I merely withdrew myself. Others might say the same of you."

"Are you calling _me_ a coward?"

"Not at all, dear sister." He smiled from beneath his cowl. "I just find it convenient you are removed from the south while seeking me out. Surely we cannot be the last?"

"You know we're not."

"And you didn't want to wait? How sweet." He folded his arms, his hands hidden by his sleeves.

Her laugh was droll. "Did you think you could escape? No matter where you hide, I will find you."

"I'm not interested in our family's little squabble." Aalin informed her coolly. "Whether I'm interested or not matters little; what I am is of interest, and what you are is of interest, but since we're not the last, why don't you run along back to the others and settle up accounts there, hmm?"

"The Great Hero of Neverwinter surly? Are you still mourning the loss of your beloved? You should move on, brother; there are greater prizes to claim."

"How _did_ you find me?"

"It wasn't hard. Just tedious." The elf maiden stared coldly at the projection. "We all leave wakes in our path. Yours did not go unnoticed. And then you vanished, cutting yourself off from everyone; where are your allies now? These toys?" She cast a dismissive sneer at the golems and winged homunculi lifting the stones. "Such a mage you are, hidden away in your tower, isolated from the realms."

"Is that why you're here? An alliance?"

"Yes."

"And why should I believe that?"

"There were five of us." Her handsome features grimaced. "Now there are less."

"What does this have to do with me?" Aalin brought his gloved hands together, one over the other.

"Let's join forces, brother. We could share father's throne."

"You must be desperate or stupid if you think I'd fall for that. Do you really expect me to believe that, or expect me to believe you came alone?"

She shivered slightly. "You don't understand. We could take a piece each. The five of us made a pact. Then he came – he brought his armies. Sarevok. He besieged Saradush and smashed its walls, slaughtered everyone. He met Yaga-Shura in the field; his witch broke the old spells around Yaga-Shura's heart. Yaga-Shura was a fire giant. Abazigal retreated to his lair but Sarevok's assassins found him. They were led by his lover, the kensai-priestess Tamoko. Tazok broke through the wards of Sendai's enclave; she fled to the Underdark. There's no one powerful enough to stop him."

"And you decided to run to me with tales of how terrible things are, and murder me in my sleep, dear sister?"

"…Please Aalin. I want our father's throne, but I can't kill him. I tried. I barely escaped with my life. The others have joined together. We must ally or he'll come for us all. He won't stop until he's has the prize."

Aalin didn't answer.

"I am no coward." Proudly, she set her chin. "I am Illasera the Quick, child of Bhaal. I will make my stand, with or without you, Aalin City-Breaker."

"City-Breaker?" He offered the slightest of headshakes, Undrentide firmly in his mind.

"They remember you in Neverwinter, the men and women you fought beside. I have heard the tales they tell, the songs the bards sing. You stopped their plague, broke the Luskan invasion. They would come if you raised your banner." Illasera pressed. "He is strong, so strong. He has set the Sword Coast ablaze. Baldur's Gate, Athkatla, Saradush, Tethyr; they ran red with blood. We must gather allies."

"Do you truly think me so blind? That I have no awareness of the events in Tethyr?"

"Invite me inside, brother. We can overcome him together. Balthazar will not leave his mountain fortress; he holes up waiting for Sarevok to besiege him. You are powerful, perhaps more powerful than Sendai."

"And what then, sister, when we are the last? Will you slide your poisoned knife between my ribs? Do you really expect me to believe that you will settle for a portion of Bhaal's throne?"

The elf maiden hesitated, then looked him straight in the eye. "Is this your 'mercy', _Sir _Aalin? You would save a city but leave me to die? I cannot get close to him. You are adept in the art. We both know there are ritual bindings."

"You will submit to a geas?" Slight surprise coloured his words.

"…Yes." Then after a moment, her eyes flared, "if you do the same."

He inclined his head. "There are ways around a geas. I guess we'll have to trust each other."

Even beneath her cowl, her relief was visible.

He held up his hand.

She froze.

"I'm not a knight. I am not to be disturbed. You may gather whatever allies you deem necessary, but you will not draw undue attention to this place."

"And what will _you_ do?"

"What I must." His eyes thinned. "How long will it be until the others fall?"

"A year, perhaps two. Three if Balthazar can hold out, if Sendai is smart. By then, he may have enough to ascend. He will send his assassins for us."

"There is a red wyrm in Mount Galardrym. 'Tholapsyx' is her name. Entreat or subdue her to our cause. She has a reputation for desiring unusual artefacts. Offer her a mythallar."

"And where will you be _Master_ Aalin?"

"Seeking out the white wyrm Icasaracht. She was said to be slain two centuries past by the hero Aihonen. She made her home in the Spine of the World. Her lair was never found."

Illasera set her hand on her hip. "And then?"

"Then… we will shall brave the Underdark."

Her already fair features paled. "What would we possibly offer them?"

"Whatever we have to."

_"Huh." _Aria caught the mists. _"That doesn't sound like him. So, they geas'd themselves?" _Impishly, she tugged free a grey tendril, and as it flared white, there was a faint sound. Grinning, she caused a second thread to flare, and then the first, and then a third. The low hum became a melody, and a song as they pulsed.

The Solar chose not to reprimand her, but instead a vision of the courtyard arose; the two elves sat cross-legged, their cowls down. Illasera's knives sat either side of her. Her face contorted in pain; a glowing orb floated between them, and lashed out with twin threads. At first, its light was white, then crimson, then gold as it linked to their sire's taint. Tears streamed down the elf maiden's cheeks; his brow was marred, a mask of agonised concentration. Finally, it was done, and their breaths were laboured, as if a colossal weight had settled upon their soul.

"Try it." Aalin urged simply.

Without hesitation, she snatched up one of her blades and as she swung her arm, her entire body crumbled and she screamed, as if seared by the most intense pain imaginable. Her fingers closed so tightly around the grip her knuckles creaked, but suddenly, she was able to breath. Through ragged sobs, she cradled her hand, and hissed, "Your turn."

His hand closed around her throat; Illasera's eyes widened, then glowered as his fingers began to dig in. His brow began to knit, and his grip tightened, and then he broke away gasping. "I can't–"

Satisfied, she nodded as he slowly regained his breath. Then she growled, "Why didn't you use a spell?"

"To test it." Aalin answered simply, then rose. "It will take you a while to reach Mount Galardrym."

"…Aalin, are you certain of this?" Troubled, Illasera continued to nurse her hand. "If you're sending me to my death…"

He shook his head. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

"Why not Neverwinter?" Irritation flickered. "You have many allies there."

"Sarevok possesses no wyrms of his own, correct?"

Her headshake was slight, curt.

"The wyrm will benefit our cause and may help convince those below to serve."

"You…" Illasera understood the threat. "You're right. You're not a knight of Neverwinter, 'Hero'. How will you find Icasaracht's lair?"

"I have my means."

"What do you plan to do once you find it?" She angled her hips and glared up at him. "What resources do you have to draw upon? I do not like having to ask questions or speak this much."

"Enough." Wearily, he reached out and took her hand. White-blue light shimmered, and she gasped softly.

"How did you… when did you learn to channel the taint…" Rubbing her hand vigorously, she winced. "I've never known anyone to heal with it."

He shrugged as though it were unimportant. "You have resources of your own."

She didn't bother answering the obvious.

"Utilise them. I will contact the Uthgardt and one of us will secure their allegiance through might."

Aware it wouldn't be quick, let alone easy, Illasera refrained from comment, but observed, "You seem to have thought this through."

"I like to know my neighbours and this place… I have learnt much from its tomes. Much, much more then in Neverwinter."

Lowering her head, she closed her eyes; when she reopened them, there was fiery steel in them. "Don't think I'll serve you. This is for my survival. We're not friends, Aalin."

His hand caught her chin; somehow he had crossed the gap between them. "Are you challenging me, little sister?" His gaze was empty of compassion, understanding.

She struggled loose, "No, _brother_."

"You were one of the last."

Illasera's lips twisted into a snarl.

"How many of our siblings did you slaughter?"

"I did what I had to. What I _chose_ to."

"The voice you'll heed is mine, not our sire's. I will show you how to channel the taint."

She nodded.

"Though," he added with a wryness that had been absent for years, "I suspect you already know."

Silence.

The mists closed in and opened again. This time, they were sitting in a bare stone hall; the last tatters of the Hand of the Seldarine's banners and rotting tapestries flickered in the draught. The fires glowed cheerfully. They sat along a wooden table, her at the head, him at the foot. The hall had once housed the tower's populace. Aside from the crackle of logs, and the shuffling of golems and the wing flaps of the homunculi, it was quiet. Outside, the wind coursed eerily around the towers and howled along the distant plains.

Aalin set his goblet down. Firewine. "Ask."

"What happened to you?" Illasera wondered aloud after a few moments. Beside her, her elegant silverware lay untouched. The homunculi had brought them soup. One of the towers grew things. "Do you… do you really love her as much as the songs say?"

He shrugged, and sloshed his wine in his goblet without drinking. "I made a decision." He allowed simply.

She studied him across the table. Aside from the soup dishes and goblets, it was as bare as the hall. Overhead, the candelabras held gutting candles, tended to by the homunculi.

"It has been so long since I've had anyone to talk to." A low, harsh laugh sounded from deep within his throat. "I forget to share my thoughts."

Her countenance hardened.

"I know what to voice and what not to, little sister." His eyes grew distant, and a projection formed, hovering over the centre of the table. Reams of jagged ice stretched endlessly, as hard as rock. Columns, thicker than trees, held up harsh, glistening caverns. Light seemed to emanate from the deep ice itself; there were no stars, no sun.

Illasera's eyes thinned.

"Use your words." Aalin prompted lightly.

"Where…?"

"Carnia." He supplied.

She frowned.

He raised his eyebrow slightly; Illasera glared back. But she understood. The hells. Carnia… where traitors went, amongst others. The vision fixed in upon an ethereal visage; an elf in armour. Her eyes were tormented and her hair wild. Illasera's snapped onto his, and something passed between them.

"I can't." Aalin answered simply. The projection moved, becoming blurry. A host of lizards, Saurians, waged an endless war alongside and against devils and demons, and other denizens. The picture broke up.

"Belhifet." He didn't expect the name to explain anything. "He has supplanted Mephistopheles, and sealed the arch-devil in ice. Mephistopheles' lieutenants all vie for his throne, as does Belhifet. The blood war."

A low, pained laugh broke from him. He waved her questioning gaze aside. "I won't bore you with the details, but sufficed to say, not even I would likely survive the journey."

Illasera's nod was slow. "So…?"

"So." He shook his head to himself. "I can see only two other ways."

"Father's throne… but you said!" She rose to her feet, her eyes wrathful. "You lied to me."

He waved her down. "That is one way. The other would be to aid Belhifet in exchange for her. If he won, that is." With another headshake, he rose slowly. "I had been searching for another way. When you announced your intent, to ally with me, I made my decision. We will take the throne." His hands pressed flat against the table. "I will have her back."

Carefully, Illasera wound her way over to him, met his gaze and gripped his forearm.

For a few moments, nothing more was said. Then Aalin set his hand over Illasera's. "Get some rest, little sister. You'll leave on the morrow."

She inclined her head.

"I may have a way to shave some time from your journey." When she didn't answer, he elaborated. "The Illefarn song portals. I restored some of the network."

"Why are you telling me this?" The elf maiden asked flatly.

"Because, little sister, not to would hinder our efforts." He didn't quite roll his eyes; she didn't quite glare at him. "I've had the homunculi prepare you a room. There are clean clothes, firewine, and a bath."

She stared at him uncertainly.

"I would hear more of our familial affairs, but those can wait."

Anger ignited in her gaze.

"You think I mock you? Sleep outside, if you prefer." Calmly, he withdrew his hand from within his mantel. "This is your home now. I may not be a 'Knight of Neverwinter', but as long as we're together, I have no reason to treat you with discourtesy."

She unclenched her jaw and nodded curtly. Then she glared at him. "I'm not your daughter, or your wife, and I'm not your _little_ sister."

"Then find another ally."

Her hands closed.

"Or you can accept that as comrades it is in my interests to ensure you're fully rested before you seek out a red wyrm at my behest." His words were cool, urbane, matter-of-fact.

Frustration boiled inside her, then it dropped. Leaning forwards, she murmured, "Sleep lightly, brother."

"Sweet dreams, little sister."

She glared at him, then turned and marched from the room.

"Other door." Aalin called after her.

Illasera swore.


	50. Present Day: Familial Traits

Present Day

Aria grinned. "I guess I know where I get it from." She frowned slightly. "But where does _he_ get it from?"

The Solar was not forthcoming.

Choosing to ignore her silence, Aria rolled onto her back and kicked her legs up in the air, drew her knees to her chest then jumped lightly to her feet. Along the way, she snatched up Gith's silver sword. "So, what are those other doors over there?" She gestured with a raise of her chin and eyebrow and stretched loudly.

As unimpressed as ever, the Solar turned her gaze back towards the mists.

"Nope. I want to walk around for a bit. My legs are getting stiff. I'm thirsty. Can I have my wineskin back? And you know, things. I kinda need to go. Like, now. Is there… no, I don't suppose there would be. I guess _you_ don't need to. Do you even eat and drink? Want some?" Aria held up her water-flask.

Warmth touched her eyes, politely declining.

"Well, you'll at least turn around then?" She raised both eyebrows in the direction of the door. "It's not like I can leave, right?"

When the Solar didn't answer, Aria shifted from one foot to the other. "You mean I _can_? Great. So… mind if I go, then summon me back? I really don't want to hold it much longer. …Please? C'mon, us mere mortals have needs. Don't make me spell it out. Aren't you meant to be all wise and all?"

Shaking her head, the Solar gestured and Cespenar bounded up in a series of dainty hops. The little imp looked confused for a moment, then scuttled away and returned with a large, chipped bowl.

"Really?" Aria made a face. "Fiiiiinne." Grumbling, she started to unlace her breeches, then looked up pointedly at the Solar. The great blue being pivoted, her colossal white feathered wings masking most of her from view. "No peeking." Aria called up.

A little while later, Cespenar replaced the bowl with a second of steaming water, and after she had towelled her hands dry, removed it. "I guess I can see the advantages of having a butler around." She mused. The Solar said nothing.

"You can look now."

As gracefully as before, she turned back.

"That feels so much better." Aria smiled up at her. "Thank you, Solar." Daintily, she mimed a half curtsy, lifting her cloak like a dress. Then she giggled at the Solar's expression. "Aw, you can say it."

She declined.

"Pleeease?"

_"Mortals."_

Aria beamed, then lightly aimed a punch at her. It fell short by feet. "You do have a personality! I knew it was in there somewhere. And since we're spending sooooo much time together, we should at least get to know one another a little, don't-cha think?"

In answer, the mists reformed.


	51. Cold as Ice

Cold as Ice

Her name was Lysan. An Aurilite priestess. Aalin found her outside the tomb of Kresselack, a once-great barbarian king of the Uthgardt. Breaching the wards of the tomb, he entered and conversed with Kresselack's spirit, and discovered that the old king had desired a place at Myrkul's side and sacrificed himself as an offering. Instead, Myrkul had cursed Kresselack to wander his own tomb. Lysan desired to cleanse the tomb for her Lady, the Frostmaiden, but Aalin made a pact with her. She agreed to leave the nearby town of Kuldahur and Kresselack's tomb, and journey with him.

With Kresselack, Aalin struck another deal. During his time as a spirit, Kresselack had come to see his actions as wicked, and yearned for release. Aalin offered something else: atonement and a more benevolent master to serve with a place within his eventual court. In exchange, the Uthgardt king provided knowledge… of the Uthgardt people and their tribes. Using his sire's taint, Aalin then bound Kresselack's spirit within a soul gem, which he set in the pommel of Aribeth's blade.

Shortly after re-sealing the tomb, with Lysan at his side, Aalin set off to find the Uthgardt. The heartstone pointed their way, though Aalin was careful to keep the gemstone concealed. After many days, they came upon their quarry. The blonde haired priestess wore white robes tinged with ice blue, and caused shadows to rise up around the camp of the 'wyrm tribe'. Wylfdene the chieftain of the tribe met them in the meadhall, while Hjollder the tribe's shaman, urged Wylfdene he sensed 'darkness' within the outsiders. It soon became clear that Hjollder's word carried little weight, and Aalin felt the presence of another within Wylfdene. Lysan confirmed it in low, hushed whispers, and Aalin set Aribeth's sheathed sword, the guard masked by a sash, in front of him. It pressed against the fur rugs littering the hall, and he called the spirit of Kresselack forth.

Wylfdene laughed, naming it a 'petty trick'. Hjollder paled, and murmurings broke out amongst the tribe. Kresselack had walked as a 'winter wolf', in his own words, spreading death wherever he trod, his arrows blackening the skies as they rained down. Aalin informed them simply that he would lead the Uthgardt as Kresselack once had. Wylfdene's scorn was as dismissive as it was imperious. Lysan hissed that the chieftain was possessed, a far greater, older being…

Calmly, Aalin called out, "I seek the lair of Icasaracht."

Wylfdene's laughter was cruel.

"I know you're in there, wyrm. I can sense your presence; can you sense mine?"

The laughter stopped, replaced by cold fury. Before Wylfdene ordered his warriors to strike, Aalin held up his palm, and requested to speak with the dragon. Alone.

The mists formed and dispersed. Outside, the stars had replaced the low afternoon sun, and blackness the pale blue. Aalin stood outside the meadhall, Wylfdene at his side, and the chieftain knelt before the elf. Hjollder cried out against this, demanding combat. Lysan stepped forwards, and in the pit, her magic wracked the shaman. As the Uthgardt staggered on his knees, Aalin halted the duel; Lysan veiled her disgust and obeyed. Shamed and limping, Hjollder raised his knife and prepared to take his own life; Aalin spoke of a new dawn, one where honour was restored. He asked for Hjollder's help in shaping this future, and furthering the shaman's people. Hjollder growled back he had no reason to trust such words.

Shielding his sword with his mantel, Aalin unwound the sash around the guard and held it before the battered man. The elf asked simply if the shaman recognised it. Hjollder knew the Eye of Tyr, but not the blade. Just as simply, Aalin stated that the blade belonged to a champion of Neverwinter, the Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande. Many murmurings were heard amongst the Uthgardt warriors, and Lysan recoiled in shock.

"Now will you follow?" Aalin extended his hand to the shaman. Shakily, Hjollder rose to his feet, and staggering over to the elf, caught his forearm. Aalin pulled him close and murmured, "Your life is worth more than a knife to my chest. I have come from the Hand of the Seldarine. Will you follow me to meet Icasaracht?"

The shaman's shoulders drooped, and Aalin's blue-white shinning mist gathered, and he straightened.

* * *

Aria poked at the scene. "It was never that easy for me." Sighing loudly, she squinted at the Solar. "He didn't even fight. Why'd they join him?"

_"He promised them hope."_

"Yeah, but they didn't need to believe him."

_"The Uthgardt are superstitious. Kresselack alone swayed many to your father's cause."_

"Seems too convenient. Why'd Lysan join, or Kresselack? Da's not that great an orator. He didn't even make a speech this time."

_"He offered an alliance. Lysan would serve at his side and spread the teachings of Auril, and many would worship at the Frostmaiden's shrine. She sensed his power, just as Hjollder."_

"Hm. I guess. But what about Icasaracht? What did he say to her?"

_"He made a pact."_ A faint smile touched the Solar's lips. _"Would you care to see?"_

"Yeah. I bet she betrays him though. There's something I just don't trust about her. Anyway, isn't she meant to be dead? Also, where's Imoen? They must be close, right? I know these events are out of order but they can't be more than a few years apart now."

_"Watch, godchild."_


	52. Bhaalspawn

Bhaalspawn

Aalin pulled out the broken sword from the heart of great white wyrm. He, Lysan, and Hjollder had gathered beneath the frozen lake of Lac Dinneshere, near the town of Easthaven. Icasaracht had explained that her heart, a soul gem, had been pierced by Aihonen's blade, trapping her soul inside, but once it was removed she could return. Much like a lich's phylactery, Aalin decided as Aihonen's sword slid free. It fell from his hand with a clatter. He looked up and waited.

Begrudgingly, he felt Icasaracht's spirit yield; he had sealed their pact with his sire's taint, similar to the geas he and Illasera had joined with. It would take longer for her body to reform than it would for them to travel back; he told her he would call when she was ready. Icasaracht agreed, and pulling his glove from his hand, he laid it on the wyrm's broken heart. Closing his eyes, blue-white mist shimmered and tenderly enveloped the heart. He felt surprise from her; she had not expected the healing, or that it could be so tender.

Lysan watched from one side. Hjollder shuffled uncomfortably.

His magic flared whiter, blinding and flashed out, illuminating the cavern beneath the lake. The two humans were forced to shield their eyes. Aalin's brow knit, his jaw clenching. Far, far away, he felt Illasera flinch, then wince openly. He felt her silent scream, and Icasaracht's shudder, and an hour later, he finally stepped back, and stilling his laboured breathing, he pulled his glove back on.

Icasaracht stretched her wings, and neck and roared. Fully regenerated, her tail flicked waspishly and slammed into the cavern's icy wall. The whole cave reverberated. Hjollder stepped back, gaping. Lysan was guarded beneath her cowl. Aalin smiled slightly. "Feeling better?"

The great white brought her snout inches from his nose. Her breath was icy, and her fresh scales gleamed. Her huge eyes shone, locked on his. Calmly, he patted her. Indignation coloured her, then she bared her teeth in a draconic grin. "Didn't feel like walking, little godling?"

"Only if you're offering. Shall we test these wings of yours?"

Icasaracht chuckled, a low, deep rumble in the back of her long throat. Aalin could feel Lysan's frown, and Hjollder's awe. The wyrm set her paw before him and graciously, he spread his gloved hands.

"My queen." He stepped on, and cast a glance towards the broken blade. "Would you like me to remove that?"

A hushed growl was Icasaracht's answer; without flourish, a thin green ray shot from Aalin's outstretched hand. The sword became a pile of fine dust. Then, he turned and held out the same hand to Lysan; composing herself with a shake of her robes, the cowled priestess strode over and accepted, the pair stepping into the centre of Icasaracht's paw. With a gesture of his right hand, Aalin signalled Hjollder to join them. After some hesitation, the shaman cautiously made his way to them. Icasaracht watched the man coolly.

Then she raised her foot and lowered her head, brought it around. Aalin's single step carried him to her great crest. Lysan, still hand in hand, went after, and a trembling Hjollder found himself unceremoniously dumped beside the pair.

Aalin flashed a quick smile at him, and casting his magic to ward them from the elements, he murmured, "Hold on." He didn't take his own advice, but Lysan's grip tightened. Hjollder clung to the wyrm's nearest horn; the pile of dust scattered. Icasaracht had already started moving forwards, first slowly, and then picking up speed. Holding herself low, she rushed towards the winding tunnel, ascending its slope with ever-increasing bounds. As soon as there was light, she launched herself, limbs and wings tucked close, tail and neck fully extended. They broke through the cold air, and soon, steady, powerful beats of her wings carried them up and through the clouds. Hjollder pressed his face to her horn, his arms wrapped around it.

Lysan's eyes were wide, but Aalin laughed softly, his own mirthful.

"Enjoying this, little godling?" Icasaracht turned her head and spoke through the rush of the clouds.

The elf grinned back at her. "Shall we see if we can find the rest of the Uthgardt?"

Icasaracht dipped her mighty head, and after spiralling in long, lazy circles, she landed after an hour. The tribe of the Great Whale screamed and their warriors bellowed their war cries. Amplifying his voice, Aalin's words eventually brought calm. Kresselack's shade sealed the few dubious tribesmen, but no one was prepared to demand ritual combat.

* * *

"I want to ride a dragon." Aria complained, flopping back onto her front and kicking her feet. With a sigh, she spread her arms and let her nose press against the scarred floor. She saw herself staring back, and watched as her reflection went cross-eyed. "Say, how old was I when this happened? 'Cause I don't remember hearing anything about this."

A moment later, she squinted up at her. "Hey, you're not making this up, are you?"

The Solar didn't quite sigh.

"Or… maybe this is all just a dream. Ew, oh yuck. If this is a dream, I just wet – oh gross."

Those unblinking orbs of white light rose towards the clouds.

Aria tried pinching herself. "But does it still work if you pinch yourself in a dream?"

_"Child…"_

Deliberately the Kalach-Cha, Spirit-Eater, and Knight-Captain of Crossroads Keep, and granddaughter of Bhaal, stuck her tongue out at her.

This time, the Solar's lips did release the softest of sighs.

"Progress!" Aria grinned, rolling over to stare up at her. "Aren't you forgetting the 'god' on that?"

The Solar chose not to answer.

"So, what's this tell you? Betcha wondering how anyone like me could've ended up the way I did. Well, as you've seen, I wasn't disciplined nearly enough as a child. Other than Retta, I wasn't disciplined at all. And now look; bearer of a scary curse." She made sarcastic spooky-sounding noises. "I'm getting hungry."

Ignoring the Solar's slightly raised eyebrow, she made a face. "For food. We've been here for what, hours? Not that time seems to matter here." She poked towards the Solar's foot. "And I need to go again."

_"You just went."_

"That's the trouble with kids, always needing to go. Oh no you don't; you called me 'child', so don't even try to argue it."

_"Did you need to go or not?"_

"It can wait. A while." She shrugged, then held out both her arms. "Admit it; you'll miss me once your gods destroy me."

The Solar's expression was oddly sad.

"No hug? Well, I guess I wouldn't hug me either. Don't worry, I won't eat you." She tilted her head. "But… you will miss me, right?"

_"Are you so certain you'll be destroyed."_

She shrugged. "Doubt any of them will take this curse from me. It's all Myrkul's fault anyway. He was the one that cursed Akachi, and I'm stuck with Bhaal's taint, soooo, I'm like what, triply cursed? 'Cause ma was a traitor and fallen too. I mean, you wouldn't even be talking to me if you didn't have to." Her sigh was long. "I should've asked Sey'ryu to let me ride her. Never met such a stuffy dragon before. Are all blues like that? Haughty and proud, and too good for just about everyone who isn't them?"

Smiling gently, the Solar regarded her. _"I am your advocate, child."_

"There! You said it again."

_"What would you like to see next?"_

She half raised her arms and flopped, her braid finally falling apart. "I kinda want to know what happens with Immy, but it's fun watching Da too. But can we skip ahead a bit? I don't really need to see him bringing _all_ the Uthgardt together. Watching Icasaracht munch everyone who refuses–"

Disapproval radiated.

"I was _going_ to say that I don't need to see that either. But… uh, did she munch on anyone? Solar?"

The Solar shook her head to herself.

"Hey, when are you going to tell me your name? I don't really want to call you 'Advocate' or 'Solar' all the time."

The mists began to swirl. Aria caught them, "Hey, don't ignore me."

_"Child…"_

"Fiiiiine. I'll just call you 'Cate' then. You don't seem like much of a 'Cate' though. Cate-lar?"

_"Cate?"_ She inquired mildly.

"Advo-cate." Beaming, Aria drew her knees up to her chest, and started unlacing her boots. "You don't mind, do you?"

_"…Very well, child."_

Aria gave her her prettiest smile, the remains of her braid falling against her cheek. After her boots, she flexed and massaged her toes through her long stockings. She sighed contentedly, and allowed the mists to gather.


	53. Missing: Leave a Note?

Missing: Leave a Note?

"He _was_ here…" Imoen looked around with a frown. "Where could he've gone?"

"L-leave a note?" Khalid suggested.

"I s'pose. When was the last time anyone saw him?" She wondered, squinting up at the bronze statue. "I mean, that's him all right." Drumming her fingers against the base of the plaque, she noticed Aerie conceal a giggle. The avariel blushed under her friend's scrutiny.

"He's really quite h-handsome."

"Yeah. Also: ew. That's my _brother_ you're talking about. Kinda. He looked at me like a little sis anyway." She shrugged, then her eyes narrowed. "Can you believe he got married and didn't even tell me? He never wrote. Not once!" She kicked the base of the statue. "He makes me so mad. Off having all these adventures and savin' people."

Aerie nodded, and laid her hand on Imoen's sleeve.

Then Imoen grinned, "Always knew he had it in him. But I bet no one else did. He never looked like it, always nose down in books an'…" A sigh escaped her lips. "It's crazy, huh? Oh, better hush up." She nudged Aerie as Jaheira strode into view, face like a thundercloud.

Khalid adopted his usual considerate 'yes dear' look; it was something he had cultivated extremely well, Imoen had noticed.

* * *

Aria caught the mist; it flared white, and then silver, playing a soft song. _"Hold up. This is too far. They were on a ship. With the sleaze-ball, and other sleaze-ball, and large-chested lady."_

"Sleaze-ball?"

_"Yeah, like slime, only more oily and greasy, sleazy. Hey, what was that look? Did you just think 'child' again? You did, didn't you!"_ With a slight humph, she flipped over onto her front and grouched. _"Can I get a cushion or something here? This floor isn't the most comfortable. What was the little fellow's name? Cespy?"_

_"Ariana."_

_"Oh, ouch. Yes _ma_."_ Not quite muttering to herself, she tried to shake the Solar's tone. Feeling as though she were five years old again, she asked with as much meekness as she could muster, _"What happened with the ship? I thought they were heading to… Luskan?"_

After a moment, Aria ventured,_ "Okay, tell me if I'm close: they docked, Imoen looked around, Jaheira disapproved. Aerie looked nervous, and tailed behind Imoen, Khalid stood behind them, while keeping an eye on everything, and Deekin drank in the sights and started composing a new song. Safana hung on the sleaze-ball captain's arm, and Eldoth – I don't know, fell overboard."_

_"Everything but the last, child."_

_"So then what? They just made their way to Luskan? No problems?"_

_"They stayed in a tavern, and Imoen expressed a desire to go shopping. Jaheira told her to wait."_

_"Oh. Okay. So then what?"_

_"They arrived in Neverwinter, and asked around. Eventually, they ran across some greycloaks who directed them to the statue."_

_"Oh. I was… I dunno, kind of expecting it to be a bit more interesting."_

* * *

"I'm not sure he'll be back." Imoen peered at the plaque. Aerie pulled a face. Jaheira's look was grim.

"W-what makes you say that?"

Imoen tilted her head towards the druidess.

"O-oh."

"Yup." Wrinkling her nose, Imoen frowned. "Why'd they let it get like this? It took us ages to find. There's trees and shrubs _everywhere_. It's like they didn't want us to find this place."

"They didn't." 'Thundercloud' was Imoen's favourite expression for that particular tone, though she only murmured it outside of Jaheira's earshot, and inside Aerie's. "We should leave. Now."

"B-but we only just got here…"

"Hush child." The half elf turned to her husband. "Khalid, we'll need to collect provisions along the way."

"Yes d-dear."

"Where's Deekin?"

"He's over there." Imoen pointed with the butt of her dagger.

"Put that away, child." Jaheira wasn't just more waspish than usual, her words were a whiplash.

Deekin had his quill out, his tongue was poking from the corner of his mouth, and he had a somewhat blank scroll with a crude depiction of the statue. He was murmuring to himself.

"Put that away." The druidess commanded the kobold. Deekin glanced up, shock written all over his features. Before he could say anything, she snapped, "We're leaving now. Gather your things."

"Are you gonna at least tell us why?" Imoen demanded, folding her arms and knowing better than to.

"I'll explain once we're away."

If she didn't know better, she'd have sworn there were traces of fear in the older woman's voice.

In spite of herself, she shivered, and turned to Aerie. "I… guess we'd better. You go help Deeks."

Aerie nodded.

* * *

Aria tilted her head, but shrugged.


	54. Neverwinter Never Stops

Neverwinter Never Stops

"So you wanna share what all that was about?" Imoen demanded as soon as they were a fair distance from the city gates. She stopped for breath. "You didn't even let us haggle for warmer cloaks. They overcharged us."

"Be still, child."

"D-dear…" Khalid began.

Jaheira shook her head, then gathered them in. "Listen closely. Do _not_ speak his name near here. They have a statue, but Aribeth wasn't just any 'lady paladin'–"

"Deekin told you about her." He confirmed beaming.

"She was one of the Neverwinter Nine." The druidess let that sink in, but was met by a round of vacant expressions. She exhaled loudly.

"A what now?"

"A-a knight, b-bodyguard to Lord Nasher Alagondar for Halueth Never's nine guards." Khalid explained gently.

"Who's that?" Imoen frowned.

"Haleuth Never founded Neverwinter." Jaheira informed her primly, "Lord Nasher is the city's current liege. As I was saying," She fixed them all a long look, "Lady Aribeth de Tylmarande was a knight of the Nine, and she served during the plague here. You were too young to remember." The druidess silenced Imoen with a glance. "They called it the 'Wailing Death'."

"Deekin said so." The kobold nodded.

"I don't get it. So why'd we have to leave? We already knew all this."

Khalid touched Jaheira's shoulder, and then Imoen's. The former fumed, and the latter seemed baffled. "T-the Nine are important. M-more than the gate warden i-in Candlekeep."

"Oh. Oooh. Oh."

Aerie's brow furled in puzzlement.

"See, Aerers, it's like this." Imoen tried to explain. "Ole Ulraunt was really stuffy and such a bore, and he ran the whole library and everything. The gate warden was in charge of all the watchers and everything outdoors, kinda. So, you could say he was the second most important person there, although the others wouldn't agree."

"So i-if L-lady Aribeth was more important…"

"Yeah." Imoen scratched her chin. "Guess that means big bro must've made some powerful enemies here, being her squire an' all." She frowned, "But I still don't get why we had to leave. We kinda already knew this."

"We didn't know she was one of the Nine." Jaheira grated.

"Well, don't you have connections or something?" Imoen waved her hand, "You and ole Mister G all wear the same pin."

Jaheira rolled her eyes. "That's enough."

"Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"Imoen." It was Khalid that spoke.

She sighed. "Okay, okay. Sheesh. But it's been years. Would anyone really remember?"

The look the druidess fixed her informed her she was being particularly naïve.

"Okay, fine, but where do we go from here? Since you just rushed us out of the city."

The two half elves changed uncomfortable looks.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. So what now? Are we just going to camp outside and just wait, or what?" She planted her fists on her hips. "And Aerie and I need new socks. And other things." She glanced at Khalid, half apologetically, then back at Jaheira. "You didn't let us get them in Luskan, or Port Llast because 'there'll be markets in Neverwinter, child'. Well, now you won't let us in Neverwinter. I'm getting holes in my smalls, and there's only so many times I can patch them. And I can't sew new soles into my boots. So until we think of a plan, I'm not taking another step, right Aerie?"

Aerie opened her mouth.

Jaheira shot her a look; the avariel quietened. "Then you can just stay here."

"Hey!"

"Khalid."

"C-coming dear." He offered Imoen an apologetic shrug.

"And where do you think you're going?" Imoen glared at Deekin who started trotting off after Jaheira. "You're staying with me, aren't you Aerie?"

The avariel drooped, but Jaheira cut off any reply by grabbing the elf's arm and dragging her. After a couple of moments of grumbling, Imoen chased after them.

"At least tell me where we're going."

"Port Llast." Jaheira grit her teeth. "We'll decide where to go from there."

"Oh, why didn't you say so?" Imoen beamed, then lightly punched Aerie in the arm. "We can finally get some new clothes. There's this hat, Aerers, it'd look really swell on you."


	55. Present Day: The Journey Continues

Present Day

"Not quite what I was expecting." Aria rolled her eyes. "So what happened next?"

_"They headed for Easthaven."_

"Huh. Why?"

_"Jaheira and Khalid's 'connections' sent them a message. They hired a courier in Port Llast who unwittingly made contact for them. They received their reply a few days later."_

"So what was their answer? Did it help?"

_"They had been unable to keep tabs on him, but he was last seen headed north. As he was Gorion's ward, and they were his friends, no further questions were asked."_

"Convenient." She hummed to herself, then stretched. "You're sure there's nothing around here to eat?" She sniffed at herself. "I think I could use a bath too. I was meaning to take one when you brought me here. And a nap. A nap would be nice."

The Solar smiled slightly.

"Don't think I could sleep beneath that sky though. It's a little scary."

_"We are in the Abyss, child."_

"I don't like it. Could you… make it go away, maybe? Please?" This time, she asked the last in earnest. Hugging herself, she tried not to look at the clouds and green fire.

Sympathy mingled with compassion. _"Come."_

Obediently, Aria scooped up her boots and tailed after her. The Solar seemed to glide through the air; Aria trotted. One of the doors opened for them: within, pools of clear water set within a sandy beach set with tropical trees rose up. Best of all, there was a vaulted ceiling. Staring at it, Aria's eyes began to well, and stripping off her long stockings and discarding them in her boots, she crashed into the Solar and flung her arms around the blue-skinned being's leg.

"Thank you-thank you-thank you." The sand between her toes was warm and felt _wonderful_. "I'm sorry I threatened to eat you. I'll stop being so sassy." She didn't quite garble her words. Sniffing, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "I'll try, anyway."

Silently, the Solar's hand reached down; it seemed nearly as large as Aria's torso. With incredible tenderness, she touched her back. Aria shivered, but rested her cheek against the Solar's bare leg. The white skirt and breastplate towered well beyond the young woman's head.

She buried her face. "I didn't want any of this. I didn't ask for it. I only wanted to help my village and find my father…"

_"I know, child."_

"I never wanted to hurt anyone, not at first. I could've saved Amie if I had… and after that, I learned that if I didn't kill, others would kill me, but I never… I didn't want it."

_"Shh." _

She sniffed, and the Solar gently disentangled herself from her. The mists began to cloud.

"Won't you sit? Please?"

The immortal embodiment of virtue did, shifting her blazing sword, still sheathed, to one side, and tucking her wings neatly in. Promptly, Aria nestled against her, between the crook of the giantess' arm and her side. She didn't want to think of what the green clouds reminded her of; Kelemvor's City of the Dead and the Wall of the Faithless preyed on her mind, and for a moment, without the fire, they had seemed the same, and she was back there, standing before Kelemvor.

Somehow Akachi's generals had gathered around her and launched another Crusade against the Wall. Ammon Jerro had been there too, and the warlock had summoned Mephasm and his other infernal minions. Rammaq, the demilich, a giant floating skull; he had been a titan, once. Unable to keep from shivering, Aria drew her knees to her chest, wrapping herself in her cloak. Rammaq was even worse than the 'King of Shadows', Illefarn's ancient guardian… more and more memories spilled over. Faces and names, and nameless faces. Her village…

The Solar's hand rose cupping her lightly. Turning into her, Aria allowed herself to weep uncontrollably for the first time since Moire. Irrational and as random as it was, she remembered she had refused to wear a dress since the night she lost Amie. When she had no more tears left, she wiped her eyes clean and sniffed. Finally, she looked up at the twelve-foot-tall being, and her eyes filled again. This time, she stilled herself, and nodded. The Solar's gaze held that same mix of pity, compassion and tenderness, but Aria also wondered if she held a protective note too. Resting her cheek against the Solar's thigh, she waited for the mists to close in.

When they did, she realised it had been a little under four years since she left home. Maybe longer, maybe not. Since she'd never truly known how old she was, Amie and her had decided to share birthdays; they had kissed goodbye to their seventeenth a few days before the harvest ball. She smiled at that memory; they had danced arm-in-arm on the table, singing and kicking their legs as they drank from each other's mead. It was their tradition: pilfer the harvest mead before the festival, and 'sample' it.

Tarmas was always a grouch, but he was amused. There wasn't much point teaching them anything until their heads cleared. Their antics caused a stir each year, and Bevil groaned and Retta scolded them both the next morning. It was the same since they had turned fourteen. They had decided on one flagon each, but somehow the flagons got a little larger each year. Neither could do more than groan the next day, but it was always worth it; they wound up facedown, arm-in-arm as they staggered back to Amie's bed, or her bed. Georg lectured them, but like Retta, he wore a secret smile.

The Moss brothers had always taken it as a challenge, and tried to out-drink them. Bevil always got affronted, but it was all in good fun. She and Amie would strip off and jump in the stream behind her house; Bevil always refused to join in and kept watch for them. In the morning, Retta would drag them by their ear to the water troth and thrust their heads under it. Merring would come around, and Retta would tell him not to cure either of them, and maybe 'this year they'll learn'. Not that they ever did. Merring took pity on them and after enduring another lecture, he removed enough of the nausea for them to at least stomach the thought of breakfast. Daeghun was never around until later that afternoon. He disapproved of such things, and after years of it, Aria had simply grown tired of his silence and shared cake with Amie. Amie had been an orphan too, and as the only other girl her own age, they had shared everything, squabbles, clothes, tears, and laughter, and many, many hugs. Retta had taken Amie in, as had Tarmas. They would never share another flagon of mead, sew dresses with Retta's help, or enjoy cake together. And for what? Some stupid sword from a stupid war over a stupid guardian of a long, dead empire?

The Solar rubbed her shoulder gently. Aria hadn't realised there were tears running down her cheeks until her eyes stung. She blinked them back, and discovered the Solar's thigh was damp from her face.

"Sorry," she muttered, and used her cloak to dab at the blotch. A few moments later, she felt ready to watch the visions.


	56. No Rest for the Wicked

No Rest for the Wicked

There had been another murder, Aria learned. Sir Nevalle, not Sir Darmon, was in charge of the operation. Brelaina informed her after a sharp rap on her door. When she didn't answer, Brelaina rapped a second time, and didn't wait for a third. Entering Aria's chamber, the captain shook her lieutenant roughly by the shoulder.

"Retta, let me sleep..." Aria mumbled, rolling over and pulling the covers over her head.

On the end of the bed, Faetix wore a most reproachful look, and curled up.

Brelaina reminded herself that the girl hadn't been given militia training according to Cormick's report, so simply leaned down and said, "I want you out of bed this instant, young lady."

Her tone was enough to provoke Aria into sitting bolt upright; Brelaina narrowly dodged, and Aria rubbed her eyes, looking confused. "You're not…" Then she remembered herself and fixed Brelaina a dazzling smile. "Good morning, Captain. …Why are you in my bedroom? And why's the door open?"

"It's an hour until noon, Lieutenant."

"Oh." Aria rubbed her eyes again and looked around for her waterskin. Wordlessly, Brelaina handed it to her. "Thanks." Unwrapping the cord, she uncorked it and took a swig, then offered it to the captain. Brelaina declined and reached to take it from her, but Aria took another, longer draught, then handed it back.

"Get dressed." Brelaina instructed, ignoring that the ties down the neck of Aria's shift had come loose. Taking up the hairbrush from the bedside table, the older woman dropped it in the younger's lap. "I want you up and in my office in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?" Completely crestfallen, Aria flinched. "But Captain–"

"No arguments."

"I can't–"

Brelaina turned; Aria grabbed her arm and almost toppled from the bed. Brelaina turned, annoyance flashing. Ignoring how far the girl's shift had ridden up, Brelaina caught and steadied her before she could fall off completely, "Is this your idea of respecting your superiors, Lieutenant?"

"It's too early for that." It wasn't quite a whine, and her eyes glanced towards the door. She snatched up the cover before one of the greycloaks could walk past.

"Too early–"

"Please, I don't know how…" Imploring her to understand, Aria made her best 'I'm helpless' lost puppy face. Brelaina's own hardened.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"Not in ten minutes."

"Seven."

"See! I can't manage in that amount of time. Please Captain…"

"Just what is it you don't understand?"

Guiltily, she glanced over Brelaina's shoulder to the wardrobe.

"You… the uniform?"

She nodded. "I tried and tried last night…" Aria caught her lower lip between her teeth. "I've never had one before."

Brelaina massaged her temples with one hand. "Fine."

"You will? Thank you-thank you-thank you."

"Don't you dare lie back down." She threatened, walking over to the door and shutting it firmly. Then she turned around to find Aria still hiding behind the covers. "Out."

Gingerly, she slid her leg out, and winced as her bare toe connected with the cold floorboards. No one had thought to put a rug in there.

"Lieutenant." Brelaina began, drawing the word out.

She darted sideways, snapping her heels together. The shift settled around her knees, and she straightened it.

"How did you ever make it this far?" Brelaina wondered aloud.

"I, erm, slept in my clothes, Captain ma'am."

"Captain is quite adequate."

"Yes'm. Captain."

Aria studied the floorboards.

"Yes?"

"This is… this is the first time I've slept in a bed since coming to Neverwinter, except for that first night at Uncle Duncan's…"

Brelaina frowned, "Why…?"

She scuffed her toe along the floor. "It was _really_ uncomfortable, so I, erm, sort of slept on my bedroll."

"This whole time?" Incredulousness broke her usual demeanour.

Aria smiled sheepishly. "It was more loads more comfortable. So, um, I…"

"I see." Unable to refrain from shaking her head, Brelaina did hold back a sigh. "And the uniform?"

"I… I tried last night, but it's so fiddly. I don't want to ask Elanee or Neeshka, I mean, I could, but um, I don't really want to go outside like this, and while I could wear my cloak, you might think I was fully dressed, or ask why I wasn't wearing my greycloak and then it'd get embarrassing because there are others there, and if Khelgar heard, he'd laugh so loudly and then everyone would _know_ something was up and this is my first day as a lieutenant and… please don't think less of me, Captain. Ma'am."

Brelaina looked like she wanted to groan, then straightened herself. "Three minutes. Take it off," she nodded towards Aria's shift as she turned to the wardrobe, "unless you only have one of those?"

"Oh, no, I have a couple. I washed the other one last night, so it should be dry by now."

"At least you can wash your own clothes…" Her captain muttered, pulling out the new uniform. She turned to find Aria in the middle of changing over her smalls, and averted her eyes. As the girl hurried along, pulling on first the clean, almost-dry shift, and then her long stockings, Brelaina rubbed her face with one hand. She hadn't seen this in recruits. Was this really the same person who negotiated with bandits and lizards, and hunted orcs?

"I'm sorry." Aria had the good grace to flush, and shaking her head to herself, Brelaina tugged the tunic over the girl's head, helped her into the breeches, and then turned her to the side.

"This goes here, like this." She drew the cord tight, "And this goes here, like this." The two sides laced up, and she fastened them with ties. "This," she thrust the surcoat into Aria's arms, "goes over your mail." Then flipping up the tunic, she drew tight the crotch strings, and pulled the tunic's ties through the breech's loops, and drew them taut. "This is to stop it slipping." Dropping to one knee, she lifted first one of Aria's feet, and fed the breech loop over her stocking, and then the other. "And that's to stop it riding. Any questions?"

"Um, where's the padded tunic?"

"The gambeson?" Brelaina shook her head. "You're not in plate, child."

"Oh. Okay."

"Do you need help with your jerkin?" Vague amusement warred with impatience; her fingers tapped her bicep over folded arms.

She shook her head, and reached for her cloak. From one of the hidden pouches, she withdrew the Hand of the Seldarine's mail, and slipped it on as easily as her shift. The elven mail whispered, silk-like, as it glided.

"Now I understand." Brelaina shook her head.

With a smile, Aria shrugged.

Brelaina unfolded the surcoat and obediently, Aria held out her arms.

"That wasn't… oh, never mind." The captain finished dressing her, and affixed the ties, and glanced at her lieutenant's cloak. "I expect you'll want that underneath the greycloak?"

She nodded.

"It might get in the way, but if it's like your mail, perhaps not." Brelaina reached for both cloaks, and draped first one, then the other, and buckled down the clasps on each shoulder. Then, to make sure, she turned the girl around, and taking a couple of hairpins, pushed them through the cloaks at each corner. "I suppose," Brelaina muttered, as Aria pivoted and swung the cloaks this way and that, beaming, "you'll want your hair done too?"

It was meant to be sarcastic, but the relief was so naked on her face Brelaina felt herself sighing.

"Would you? I try to braid it, but…" Her face fell. "I was never much good at it." Grief touched her features, and Brelaina suddenly understood. Cormick had mentioned that Aria's best friend had fallen during the raid. "Usually… I'd ask Elanee, but… since you're here and… we're running behind…" Aria studied the floorboards.

"I suppose we can't have our new lieutenant looking a complete wreck on her first day. Sit." Brelaina ordered.

Meekly, she did, knees together. With an indignant chirp, Faetix took flight and landed on the desk, and promptly began to sun himself. With another headshake, Brelaina joined her, and started dividing the girl's hair into three. Aria endured it silently while she worked. It didn't take Brelaina long to fall into a smooth, steady rhythm. The elf-kin's silken hair fell easily into place and when she was finished, Brelaina couldn't help but feel a small surge if disappointment, but tied the end off neatly with a piece of black cord, and tucked the braid beneath her cloak.

"There."

Forgetting herself, Aria spun and gave her captain a quick hug, her eyes listening. "Thank you so, so much."

Brelaina caught her elbows, "Just this once."

She nodded earnestly.

"Now do you want to tell me where you went last night?"

Aria froze.

"Well, Lieutenant?"

"I… I'm still attending that assignment, ma'am." Her just as earnest look pleaded with Brelaina to understand.

"Is that why you were weeping last night?"

Ashen faced, she bit her lip. Brelaina didn't loosen her grip. "I…" She nodded uncertainly, her eyes frantic. "There are eyes everywhere–"

"I know."

"Even…"

Brelaina's eyes hardened. "I know. You were noiseless, but your face is streaked. Do I need to check in on you?"

She flushed. "N-No, that won't be necessary, Captain. Ma'am."

"What happened?"

"Please don't ask that."

"You'll report to me and only to me on this matter."

She bit her lip.

"Why the uncertainty, Lieutenant? Or… do you think I'm in league with her?"

"I didn't say that!" Aria protested a little too quickly.

Brelaina's face resembled a thundercloud. "Watch what you do say, and not just with your words."

"I'm sorry…" She turned her face away. "She scares me. She… she _knows_. She knows everything. Even… my mother…"

As Aria spoke, Brelaina hardened, then softened at the last.

"Is… is that why I was chosen?"

"Yes." Her captain answered simply.

She looked devastated.

"As well as for your work in Fort Locke, Highcliff." Brelaina moved her hand to the girl's shoulder. "You were chosen because you earned it, and because your parentage provided an opening."

Aria nodded slowly, then lowered her gaze. "I'm sorry."

Brelaina waited.

"I didn't mean… I'm… sorry."

"You're still new to this. You did well at Old Owl Well, but things are different here. Here, the enemies are political as well as physical, and sometimes, they're one and the same, and you can't take them down as cleanly as you could out there. Beyond the walls, it's a different matter; inside? Inside sometimes your enemies wear the same colours, and sometimes your allies are the ones you're ordered to hunt."

"How am I supposed to know the difference?"

"You follow orders."

She chewed her lower lip. "So I'm to trust no one?"

Brelaina sighed. "You are so young. Perhaps it would have been better not to have recruited you, but you're here now. You have talent, girl. You've done well so far. I won't say 'trust no one', but trust those who prove themselves worthy of your trust. It would be better to remember that even out the field, when your lives depend on your companions, they may not be working for the same side as you." She caught Aria's chin. "But as long as you're under my watch, I'll do what I can to protect you. If you betray that…"

"You'll make me beg to be skinned alive?" Aria murmured weakly.

"Tyr's blood, is that what she said?" Brelaina swore, then quietened. "No, girl, I won't threaten you like that, but you will be dancing from a noose, same as your mother, if you bring it upon yourself."

"I… can't I just go home? Please? I've done what you and Cormick asked. Won't you send aid?"

"It's being arranged, and no, even if I wanted to release you, I can't. I need every good man and woman I have, and that includes you. I haven't forgotten and I know it's hard for you. I've spared what I can, and I've sent orders to Commander Tann, and he's rounded up everyone he can from Highcliff and Fort Locke, and he'll assist however he can. I know it's not what you were hoping, but it's all I can do right now. You'll like this even less, but your people may have to abandon their village and fall back to the Fort."

She hung her head. After a moment, she ventured, "There's really nothing more you can do?"

"Not right away. Not with how things are in Blacklake. Four lords and one of the Nine have been murdered. Keep that to yourself. Last thing we need is word getting out that one of Nasher's most loyal has been cut down." Brelaina sighed. "First the docks, now this… we're stretched thin and…" She caught the girl's expression; Aria quickly averted it, but not swiftly enough. "That fire." Brelaina began, her voice low, cold. "Before he died, Caleb swore it wasn't him who set it. He was laughing as we hauled him to the gibbet. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Aria shuffled on the bed, too uncomfortably close to her captain to slip away.

"You? _You_ set it?" She stared, then her eyes thinned.

Flinching and bracing herself for the blow that never came, Aria squeezed one eye open after a hesitant moment.

"So that's why she didn't put a knife in you." Brelaina looked grim. "Well, Lieutenant, that is going to cost you dearly. It explains why none of our own were harmed. I had wondered about that. It didn't seem Caleb's style, or Moire's." Her barked laugh was low, harsh. "I guess I should thank you. I'll do what I can to keep you from the rope."

"Sorry, Captain…"

"I'm afraid 'sorry' isn't going to be enough if you get hauled up on charges."

Thrusting her chin out, Aria glared. "I did as you and Cormick told me. _Whatever_ she says." Her face fell. "I… I don't want anyone getting hurt, but I think…"

"Yes Lieutenant?"

"Next time…" She raised guilty eyes. "She wants me to…"

"…Me?" Her eyes widened then sharpened. "I see. You do what you have to do, Lieutenant. Right now, you have a job to do. I woke you two hours early so we could have this little chat."

Aria jerked up.

"The room's warded. I had one of our mages prepare it specially. Anything else you want to say?"

"Please don't be mad at me."

"You slay orcs without blinking, negotiate with bandits and lizardmen, and you're afraid of a tongue lashing?"

"You can stop the aid to my village."

Brelaina didn't reply. Then, after an agonisingly long wait, she queried, "You said 'she knows everything'. Does that include West Harbour?"

Aria nodded.

Brelaina swore. "I'm sorry, girl, but you're a liability now."

"I didn't _tell_ her. She _knew_. She knows about you and Cormick, and–"

"Me and Cormick?" Her eyebrow lifted.

Aria flushed. "She knows Cormick comes from the same village. She knew straightaway."

Brelaina seemed to consider. "What does she want from you?"

"To know everything. She told me not to make the mistake of thinking she didn't already know."

"That's all?"

"I… I can't tell you. She'll know if I do. She _knows_ just by looking at you. She knows when someone's lying. So – so if I don't tell you, then I can't lie."

"Very well. Now, assemble your squad and report to Sir Nevalle." Brelaina squeezed Aria's shoulder. "And you take care out there."

She nodded.

"Sir Nevalle's a good man. One of the best."

"You served with him?"

A ghost of a smile flickered across her. "You're going to be late, Lieutenant, and if you show us up by being tardy, I'll have you cleaning latrines for a year."

Her face was so distraught that Brelaina had to chuckle.

"Go. And wash your face." She swatted her lightly and shook her head. Aria headed for the door, then at the last moment, remembered to turn and salute, then rushed through and almost collided with Elanee. Faetix lifted his head, uttered a squawk of outrage, then zipped after her, barely missing Brelaina's face. He landed against Aria's braid, nipped at it, and flopped down into her hood. Then he sneezed as the tip of her hair tickled his nose; for a moment, he looked as if he wore a moustache.

Brelaina tried hard to conceal her smile, and unobtrusively left Aria's room.

The druidess, tiefling and dwarf were all arrayed in the watch's uniform, with varying success. Neeshka's was slightly too broad at the shoulders and too short at the hip, whereas, Khelgar suffered the exact opposite. His was too tight at the chest, and too long. Elanee's fit her like a glove, gloves each of them were issued with. The elf smiled at the sight of Aria, and breaking protocol, touched her cheek.

Aria offered her a wan smile, but was grateful for her encouraging look.

"Grab your gear," Aria instructed, looking around for a wash cupboard as she remembered her orders. "We leave as soon as I've washed my face."

"You too, Khelgar." Elanee added, naturally assuming the role of corporeal and sergeant. She glanced towards Neeshka who simply rolled her eyes.

Aria nodded without argument, and Neeshka and Khelgar exchanged shrugs and bewilderment. Elanee followed her, and squeezed her shoulder.

"I'm fine. I'm… not, but I am." Aria admitted softly. "I was thinking about home and… Amie."

Elanee squeezed and let the girl step inside to splash water on her face. A moment later, she finished.

"Everyone filled your waterskins? Okay, let's head out. Captain wants us to make a good impression." She glanced at Khelgar, "We'll be outside." Then she caught Neeshka's eye, and the tiefling's sigh of exasperation.

The druidess touched the small of Aria's back, and flashed a small smile at her; Aria just about managed to smile back.


	57. Sir Knight

Sir Knight

Sir Nevalle looked every inch what Aria expected, except, somehow, not quite as broad, or as battle scarred. He looked almost as if he belonged in a romance; his hair was light brown, his face seemed altogether too soft, and he was lean, not stocky. But he carried himself with one who had had years of wearing armour, and he seemed thoughtful rather than confident, and that was something Aria could appreciate. She didn't feel like she was being ordered to her death, and Brelaina had described Darmon as 'fervent' and 'keen' and neither sounded much like a compliment.

By the time they arrived, Nevalle was in place and was looking over a map of the district.

Faetix drew himself up and measured himself against the knight, his little head rearing proudly as his crest glinted in the pale afternoon light. Preening, he buffed his claws. An intense concentration lit his gaze, and then he licked his paw and smoothed a stray hair from behind Aria's ear. Satisfied, he nestled back inside her hood.

"Sir Nevalle? I was told to report to you…"

He stared at her and just after it was starting to become uncomfortable, he smiled, and handed her the map. "Tell me, what do you think?"

The layout wasn't very clear. There were barricades set up in the backstreets, beyond the line of houses. The whole district had been sealed off with a second perimeter. Sir Nevalle would lead the strike squad.

"I think… we're going to have trouble." She lifted her eyes off the map towards the warehouse. In the distance, cowled figures with a strange gait patrolled.

"Why?" His gaze seemed oddly astute.

"We don't know what's inside, and if we breach here, or there, we can't be sure we'll be cutting them off. We should go in with mages."

"My thoughts exactly."

Elanee, Khelgar and Neeshka hung back, her tail tucked firmly out of sight, and her daggers in hand. She was supposedly issued with a spear, as was Elanee, but somehow, they had all 'forgotten' their assigned equipment, herself included, and brought their own along. Since she was bringing her bow, she wasn't about to scold the others for bringing their gear.

"But we can't have the mages go in first, so they'll come in _after_ we've cleared the way. Callum tells me you're an excellent shot."

"Callum said that?" Incredulousness forced her to break protocol.

Sir Nevalle chuckled. "Aye, and he isn't given to idle praise. This is the same crew that took down Logram Eyegouger?"

She nodded, "That's them. …We had help though."

"Aye, I heard. This time, you'll be backing us up."

Neeshka made a disgusted noise.

Sir Nevalle's eyes drifted. "Unless you have a better plan, Miss…?"

"Neeshka. And yeah. You make too much noise."

"Neeshka, are you volunteering we go in first?" Elanee's voice was tight.

Khelgar grinned. "Now _that's_ the kind of plan I can get behind."

"Hmm." Nevalle's gaze considered each of them. "It's unconventional, but you proved yourselves as advanced scouts against the orcs."

"Aria." Elanee hissed.

Aria shrugged and sighed. "We'll give you the signal to charge in." She offered helplessly glancing at the grinning Khelgar as he unsheathed his war axe. Neeshka was already ridding herself of the watch's colours in favour of the leathers she wore beneath. Distaste touched Elanee's eyes, but she refrained from removing her surcoat and cloak. A faint grin touched the edges of Nevalle's features. "I'll instruct my people to watch out for you. Shouldn't be too hard to miss; two elves, a tiefling and a dwarf."

Aria observed that both Neeshka and Elanee had folded their arms at the same time; she realised she had too. Khelgar looked ready to start a brawl then and there, and neither one of them seem inclined to stop him. Aria cleared her throat quickly.

Nevalle cleared his, and attempted to pacify them. "If you're favouring stealth, I suggest you leave your cloaks here?"

The offer calmed them slightly, and haughtily, Neeshka bundled up hers and dropped them on the barrel that served as Nevalle's table. With more dignity, Elanee elegantly slid out of hers, folded it neatly and laid it beside Neeshka's and Khelgar just tore at his, until Neeshka leaned down and primly reminded him that he still had to wear it and if he tore it, he was stitching it. A grunt and a muffled swear followed.

Aria caught Elanee's eye, and with a smile, the druidess circled, and deftly tugged free the hairpins in the corner of the cloak, and unclasped the buckles on the front. Lifting Faetix up, Aria neatly dropped him in her elven cloak's pouch and drew it shut; slight grumbling followed. Awkwardly, Nevalle turned away. Helping her with her surcoat, Elanee gracefully folded hers, then Khelgar's, and was about to fold Neeshka's when the tiefling gave an exasperated hiss of, "Let's go already."

Aria drew up her hood.


	58. Here Be Rats?

Here Be Rats?

The warehouse was dark. The sentries still patrolled, but Neeshka had led them, ducking behind piled planks and abandoned stacks of pallets, and waving and halting them with hand signals. She seemed to have an uncanny knack, and she brought them onto the roof, then down through a skylight. Aria wasn't entirely sure why a warehouse had a row of skylights, especially in a city full of thieves, but she supposed that using torches and lamps in a warehouse might not be the best of ideas, depending on the cargo inside. Not everyone had a mage handy either.

The warehouse itself was shrouded in gloom, though less so, thanks to the skylights, in spite of the overcast day. The clouds seemed leaden and threatened snow again, as usual. Snow had been the staple of each day and didn't seem to be willing to let up anytime soon. Even when the streets were swept, they were caked again before too long. It did provide one great advantage; the patrols outside had bundled up in thick hoods.

Of course, that meant nothing as Aria was certain the warehouse was warded; why wouldn't it be? She had almost taken out that sorceress' eye. There were more of those creatures inside. She counted fifteen; she confirmed with the others. They managed similar numbers. In the back, cordoned off by a curtain, she suspected more awaited. She cast a glance at the others. Even with surprise on their side, fifteen and ten more bladelings outside weren't great odds.

Aria listened for Aliana's voice, and then flicked the pendent when none was forthcoming. Khelgar raised an eyebrow. "For luck," Aria's words were low.

Khelgar obviously thought she was a 'strange lass', but refrained from saying so. Instead he gripped his axe.

_"There's magic here."_ Aliana murmured. _"They can feel you're here. They… seek the silver."_

_"Why?"_ She asked inwardly.

Aliana fell silent.

Aria signalled to back away from the skylight; Neeshka and Khelgar stared at her as if she were mad. "It's a trap. They know."

It was good enough for Elanee, but Neeshka glared. Elanee signalled Nevalle, and the strike group closed in. As the panic and chaos ensued, Khelgar dropped down and engaged those inside. Neeshka, after shooting a filthy look at Aria, did the same. Elanee began chanting and used the rotting wood's lichen against those within; magic boomed and thundered as the Neverwinter mages met those of their foe. Mindful of Aliana's warning, Aria shot through the skylight, picking her marks with care.

One of them, a sickly yellowish-green, gaunt human-like figure with elfin ears, screamed something at her: "Kalach-Cha!" She put an arrow through him. It was the same type of creature as the sorceress. Then a spell struck the roof, and it collapsed, bringing both Elanee and Aria crashing down with it. Somehow, they didn't fall far, the stack of pallets breaking their fall, and their pride. Aria ruefully suspected that if they survived this, they'd be taking their meals standing for a little while. Then she had to roll out of the way as a mace tried to crush her; she yelled out at the attacker; one of Nevalle's team. The creature that attacked them turned and ran towards the backroom.

Neeshka had already given chase, and Khelgar, slicing down a bladeling from behind, raced after her; Aria caught Elanee's eye, both as a 'we have no choice' and as a 'you okay?'. With her eyes, Elanee gestured they follow, and they both did, leaving Nevalle and his team to clear up. They reached the portal just as it was beginning to close; Neeshka and Khelgar wasted no time and both dived for it. Without time to exchange eye rolls at such an obvious trap and their comrades' foolhardy recklessness, they joined the pair. Everything flared black.


	59. Raiders

Raiders

The cavern walls gutted from fading mage light. They didn't have long. Pushing forwards, without looking back, they pursued the gaunt creatures. Aria's bow sang, planting arrow after arrow into the bladelings and slave Duergar. The stocky grey dwarves didn't put up much of a fight; their spirits already broken by their masters, they broke ranks, turned tail and fled deeper into the caverns.

Khelgar and Neeshka exchanged mystified shrugs. The bladelings put up more resistance, but Khelgar's axe cleaved through them pitilessly, and Neeshka hamstrung, then gutted them, darting in and out of the cavern's shadows. It was like watching a strangely graceful feline, Aria decided, as she launched another volley. Pausing to retrieve her fallen arrows, she yanked them from her foe and waved the others on ahead. Elanee was keeping watch for any survivors, placing herself close by Aria, her quarterstaff cracking whatever heads that somehow avoided Khelgar's axe.

Up ahead, they heard more cries of battle. Then they saw them. Demons. Neeshka stopped cold. Khelgar grunted, raising his axe. Elanee drew back. Something inside Aria stirred. A deep, dark hunger. It could feel the pain, the death, and it revelled in it. It was so slight Aria thought she must have imagined it, and finished recovering her arrows. The elven craft hadn't snapped on her yet.

"What in the hells?" Neeshka asked, either unaware of her irony or simply not caring. Demonic critters seemed to be engaging the gaunt figures, and they had fallen back to form a loose line. Their leader bore a silver sword. Aria stared, then fingered her own shards of silver. "No…"

_"What could break such a sword?"_ Aliana asked softly. _"A great battle, perhaps?"_

"That's what they were after…"

Elanee caught her stare and frowned.

Neeshka twitched, "Who cares? Let's get out of here."

"Let's plant an axe in them." Khelgar agreed.

Neeshka thumped him. "Other way, dolt."

Aria set an arrow to her string; it was too late for that. The demons backs were in front them, forming a barrier of flesh between them and their quarry. The gaunt humanoids had somehow been alerted to them. They looked up, as if sniffing the air. Two of them turned towards them; one of which was the sorceress. Aria didn't hesitate this time.


	60. Upon Which Shoulder?

Upon Which Shoulder

He looked like an aged half elf, if half elves were pale blue with crimson eyes. He wore his robes folded over one shoulder, scarlet, trimmed with gold. He was too tall, his features too striking, his brow to prominent. It had a noble cast, rather than a predatory one, and he carried himself with unselfconscious grace. There was something cordial about his words, polite in spite of the battle raging around them. He hung back while other, more hellish tore towards their foes. Succubi led the assault, winged, near naked figures with claws and fangs. Their flesh too pale, too pink and lilac to be human.

Elanee and Neeshka both halted, each drawing back. Neeshka started scratching with the tip of her tail, scrunching up her face. Aria blanched; the air was thick with foul magic. Something in it called to her, but she found herself too distracted by Khelgar; she had to order him to stop.

The blue being calmly turned to them.

Uncertain of what to say, Aria simply voiced a less than confident, "Hello."

"Hello to you." The being identified itself as Mephasm, and commented the 'githyanki' were putting up more of a resistance than expected. His crimson gaze, unblinking, seemed to fix on Neeshka, and she scratched more vigorously, and the faintest hint of a smile rested on his lips. Then he turned back to Aria, and without mockery, bowed slightly.

Aria felt herself frown. There was something he knew that he wasn't saying. She found herself addressing him, asking why they were assaulting the Githyanki.

"Perhaps for the same reason as you, my lady." Mephasm's voice was soft, but even through the din, the screams and shrieks, she heard him perfectly. "Beyond that gateway lies their stronghold. Their portal to this realm."

"And I'm supposed to just believe that _you_ aren't just as much a threat, Lord Mephasm?"

Elanee tugged her arm. Khelgar gripped his axe, impatient to join but not quite reckless enough to charge against such odds. Neeshka kept scratching.

Aria wasn't entirely sure why she addressed him as 'lord'. She also couldn't recall if he had addressed her as 'lady' first. She felt Aliana's silent caution.

"Bold." Mephasm acknowledged, his head inclining fractionally, "but fair. We are not here to harm you."

"You can't expect us to trust that."

He smiled.

Aria did not find that reassuring in the slightest.

"Aria," Elanee hissed, "we do _not_ need to start another war."

"I'm not starting one." She pulled back stubbornly, and twisted, not quite cocking her hips. "Are you?"

Mephasm took it as directed at him. "We are currently engaged with the Githyanki. I see no reason we should cross claws."

"There, see." Aria planted one fist on her hip.

"Then why are you provoking him?" The druidess' voice was strained.

"Am I provoking you?"

"I don't believe so, Lady Aria."

"There, you see. He isn't provoked. So, tell me, Lord Mephasm, whose banner are you fighting under?"

There was a slight chuckle from the blue skinned Baatezu. "You must forgive me, but I do not believe our… benefactor wishes to reveal that."

She smiled prettily at him. "Not even a teensy hint?"

"Aria!" Elanee choked.

Faetix growled from within the confines of her pouch. Khelgar grunted to himself.

"I'm afraid not, my lady." The Baatezu bowed slightly. "I believe that is our cue to withdraw. If you will excuse us, we will leave the rest to you."

"Oh? You're entrusting four mere mortals to handle this?" Aria adjusted her hip quiver.

"I believe you are more than up to the task." Mephasm's gaze rested solely on her.

_"Have a care."_ Aliana murmured.

"Me?" Aria stuck her chin out. "If we face the same foe, we should both fight. Unless," She adopted her prettiest smile again, "there's something you're not telling me?"

"It would be a true honour to wage war beside you, but our losses are extensive." Mephasm brushed it easily to one side. "And I fear that as naturally as such a truce may be to you, your companions are less inclined."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" Stepping past Elanee's prising grasp, she stood an arm-length from the Baatezu.

"I salute your forward mindedness, Lady Aria. Others will not. I am certain we will meet again. Be well, Little Neeshka."

Then he was gone.

"Well, that was odd." Aria wrinkled her nose. Faetix hissed. Within, she felt Aliana's breath of relief. Behind her, Elanee's short exhalation was far more terse.

"Just what do you think you were doing?" The druidess demanded, catching Aria by the shoulder.

She shook her off. "No point showing fear. He's gone, now. While he was here, he was here."

Neeshka slowly stopped scratching, and stared at where Mephasm had been.

"Do you often consult with demons?"

Aria had never heard the she-elf so sharp. "This was the first one, I think."

"You think?" She asked flatly.

"Uh, guys, the – Githyanki?" Neeshka tried the word out, "Are still there."

Khelgar ground his axe's spike against the rock.

"We'll need a plan." Aria admitted.

"Catch them before they recover?" Neeshka suggested.

"I like that plan." She nodded. "Khelgar?"

"Break their heads?" The dwarf confirmed.

"I was thinking a little more specific. You and Neeshka go in, Elanee and I'll–"

"Are we going to assault a portal?" Elanee cut in. "They know we're here. They could be summoning reinforcements."

"All the more reason to move now." Aria sounded as reasonable as she could. "We'll never have a better chance now they're licking their wounds."

Khelgar grunted his agreement.

Warming her bow, she began moving, clinging to the shadows in the dying mage light. Neeshka shrugged and followed, and Khelgar took off behind them. After an exasperated exhalation, Elanee caught up to them.


	61. Answers

Answers

Many of the Githyanki were wounded; all the bladelings and Duergar were already dead, or too injured to fight. Aria counted only ten, but couldn't see the one with the silver sword. Not usually given to profanity, she nevertheless swore. They should have pressed their advantage immediately, but perhaps it wouldn't have made a difference. The ten that were left fought fiercely but didn't last long. Three went down before they knew what had happened; within moments it was over. Khelgar dispatched the last of them, ensuring that each of them were dead. He had taken a few hits, and took it personally. None of them were badly injured, although Neeshka had gained a couple of nasty cuts. Elanee was able to patch them both up without too much trouble. Aria had escaped without so much as a bruise.

Aria examined the portal with Neeshka and Elanee.

Inwardly, Aliana told her how to break it. It could be repurposed, but Aria's mastery of the art was limited. 'Limited' was putting it nicely, Aria decided; 'parlour tricks' was more apt. But she knew enough to break it. Since more Githyanki could pour through the portal at any point, it wasn't wise to leave it open. Before she did, she asked Neeshka to scout for a way out in case the cavern didn't have an opening. It seemed silly, but being trapped would be even sillier.

It turned out they were miles from civilisation, but still in the north, and after wrecking the Githyanki runes, they set off. Figuring out which way was 'home' was the next challenge, but by now, the first stars had begun to appear, and after that, they were able to vaguely gauge the right direction. Fortunately, the latest layer of snow wasn't too deep, and the sky was clear enough, so they didn't tarry.

Along the way, as usual, Aria and Elanee had fallen in together, and Neeshka and Khelgar kept up their usual banter. For some time, Elanee maintained her silence, and finally, Aria nudged her.

The druidess looked up.

"You mentioned something about 'friends' when we were back in the cells…"

Elanee nodded calmly.

"Well… can you tell me about them?"

"What would you like to know?"

She stopped. "Are you mad at me?"

Elanee's eyes flashed, but otherwise, she was perfectly composed. In her snug breeches, she picked her way easily through the snow, her quarterstaff as much a walking stick as a means of defence.

Aria caught her hand. "I'm sorry."

The she-elf didn't answer, but kept walking, her pace lengthening.

Watching her go, Aria found herself studying her feet. Elanee didn't look back for a few moments.

Khelgar and Neeshka were still someway off in front, shoving at each other. Neeshka had taken affront to something, and lobbed a handful of snow in the dwarf's direction. Soon it had escalated to her dumping an armful down the back of his neck, and her ending up face-first in the snow, spitting. Something like a truce had formed, and now they marched in sullen silence.

Eventually, Elanee paused, aware of the increasing distance between them, and irritation glinted. Khelgar and Neeshka still hadn't noticed, and Aria all but ran to her. In a very small voice, she explained, "I know you think I'm reckless, that I didn't listen to you, but I wasn't trying to endanger us."

Nothing.

"Please don't do this. Say whatever you want, just say something. Please?"

Elanee's hand tightened around her staff.

She reached out and touched the other's wrist. "You're all I have left of home."

"Do you ever think?" The druidess asked sharply. "Did you ever stop and think what it meant to talk with that thing as if he _knew_ you?"

"I don't know him." She scuffed her toe in the snow.

"You liked him, didn't you?"

"What? No!" The accusation stung. "No, of course not. He's a Baatezu."

Elanee folded her arms.

"Well… I liked his manner. He seemed refined."

Rolling her eyes skywards, the elf turned and kept walking.

"Elaneeeeee…" Aria raced and caught her arm. "I didn't like him like _that_. Ugh. That's so, so gross."

From the corner of her eye, Elanee observed her, then sighed. "Ariana, do you even like boys?"

"Huh? What, you mean… like… that? No? I mean, I don't think so?" She made a face. It wasn't like Elanee to be so straightforward. Not with that phrasing. "And don't call me that."

Elanee sniffed.

"What? Oh, I don't like girls either. I've just never thought about it. Not really."

"You'll understand when you're older." The druidess patted her.

"What's that supposed to mean? How old are _you_ anyway? Do you like boys? Or girls?"

"Old enough to remember you in swaddling clothe."

Aria wrinkled her nose. "So that makes you an old lady?"

Indignation flashed, and she lengthened her stride again.

Aria had to steady herself to keep from falling flat, and wrapped both arms around the druidess this time. Laying her head against Elanee's arm, she walked with her. A few steps later and the she-elf's shoulders relaxed.

"Are you cold?"

She shook her head. More used to seeing Elanee in her long, patched beige-tan dress, she decided that the watch's uniform suited the elf. Not the colours, but the style. Elanee's chocolate-coloured hair had golden strands in which caught the starlight. Aria sighed and pressed in closer.

"What's on your mind?"

"I'd like a bath." She confessed. "A nice hot one." Wrinkling her nose, she nudged her friend. "I know you're all for nature and snow baths and icy lakes, but I like hot water with steam."

Elanee laughed lightly. "Is that a plea for me to brush your hair?"

"If I say 'please', will you?"

The she-elf laughed and smiled. "Is a bath all you're thinking of?"

"Tell me about home? A story? What's it like, your Circle?"

Elanee's eyes grew distant. Then she began to speak about the Meredelain, its waters, and how she had watched over Aria. She had watched her since the day Aria's father had given her to Shayla.

Falling quiet at this, Aria simply listened, her gloved fingers locking more and more tightly at Elanee's soft words. During the great battle, Elanee watched, forbidden from intervening; the Circle believed that they should not get involved. Elanee believed that the people of the Meredelain were as much a part of it as the trees and the animals. She turned and smiled down at the girl.

Aria spoke quietly, recalling the times she had walked through the swamp, with Faetix as her sole companion, and very rarely, with Daeghun. Daeghun had taught her how to hunt, to track, to shoot, and she liked to wander once she had had enough of Tarmas' lectures. She would spend days and days in study, and then hours wandering the Mere. Its shadows, its waters, stagnant and fresh; the damp lichen falling from the gnarled boughs, the scent of peat. The shafts of sunlight breaking, the fog and deep snows. Its dangers were not just lizards or undead; the very Mere itself shifted, and there was a presence there, a… She didn't know how to explain it, but she didn't have to. Elanee understood, and used her arm to squeeze hers.

They talked about the tales that Myrkul's avatar was destroyed there, and his dust brought about the rise of the undead; they shared about the ancient Illefarn ruins they had explored, laughed and just enjoyed reminiscing. Aria did learn that Elanee's friends had returned to the Meredelain, and she tucked that away for later.

The slow rise of dawn beckoned and before either realised, they had been walking for hours.


	62. Questions

Questions

"You were right, brother." The elf maiden's gaze was chilly and her eyes as hard as agates. It had taken her days to return, and she found Aalin absent. She occupied herself in the library, and up keeping her disciplines. The library was warded and guarded by golems, while homunculi moved various tomes and worked a printing press. It had come as something of an unexpected pleasure when she was able to cross the threshold.

She was less pleased, though did not voice it, to find he was not alone upon his return. To prove her point, she refused to meet him, and dispatched one of his own homunculi to bring him to her.

Rather than rise to her bait, to her irritation, he graciously acquiesced. Upon his ascent; for some reason, he chose not to use the portals he had installed, she had looked out of the tower windows. She had claimed the tower as her own, or, at the very least, that particular floor. Below, stretching across the seemingly endless plains, hundreds of Uthgardt, entire tribes, had begun to arrive. Their tents littered the snows haphazardly, stopping just beyond the fortress walls.

The white wyrm had not stopped, but made her lair in one of the other towers. She had taken human form, appearing as a pale woman clad in Uthgardt furs. Her hair was white, and she wore a haughty, regal expression that the elf maiden found particularly vexing. The Aurilite priestess was also irksome, though she couldn't quite say how. So, she ignored both of them. Perhaps it was Aalin's success? How easily he had won followers to 'their' cause.

Or perhaps it was more simple than that: she simply didn't like them. Aalin's banner had multiplied a thousand fold and flew from every turret, in front of every tent: a field of white. That was it. A field of white. For some reason, that vexed her most of all. She wasn't entirely sure what she was expecting; a golden skull, a black skull, maybe a black hand or something, but just white?

"Illasera." Aalin greeted her with a warm smile. "I see you're back before me. I hope you were able to scale the walls okay?"

She ignored that. "What is that?" Pointing out the banner, she kept her tone as frigid as the snows outside.

"Ah, that. I actually wanted to ask what you wanted."

Illasera stared.

"We made a pact, and they're your followers as well as mine. Ours, I should say."

For some reason, she wanted to hurl a knife at him. Flatly, she answered, "I don't care."

"You've really no preference?"

"That isn't what I called you here to discuss."

He extended a hand, inviting her to sit. It was _her_ tower. The rickety furniture had been patched together by the homunculi; the originals were ruined. There were two fires in the small room, the round tower partitioned. She did not care about her surroundings; it could just as easily have been a palace, but he still behaved as though she were royalty.

She chose to stand. He didn't so much as shrug. Then, abruptly, she took the four legged chair and waited as he gracefully lowered himself. The rounded table was all that separated them, but rather than face one another, he had taken the chair by her side. His hands were folded in his lap, his knees parted enough to spread his robes. Illasera had chosen tunic and breeches, and yeti fur. One of the Uthgardt had made a gift of it to her, and since she was intending to hunt for a pelt, she saw no reason to decline. Outside, the Uthgardt's tamed winter wolves howled.

Her hands clenched slightly.

He waited.

Finally, he broke their silence. "What's on your mind, little sister?"

"I don't like you." That wasn't what she intended to say.

He nodded simply.

"This… this isn't natural. You're too nice." Her hands formed into fists. "Murder is what we are. How do you resist the taint? How can you channel it? The Uthgardt say you regenerated the wyrm queen. You're no cleric; it can only be our gift, so how did you do it?"

"I said I'd teach you."

She shook her head, then her eyes narrowed. "No, you _did_ something. What was it?"

"Would you believe me if I told you?"

Her face was like stone.

"I used a mythallar to cast a geas."

"On the taint? But how…"

"I prepared a phylactery for my soul and put myself in a position where my body would be destroyed, and the taint with me. My soul would be stored, and the taint would be gone. Or returned."

"And it… agreed?"

He shrugged. "I don't expect you to believe me."

"Why go to such lengths?" Illasera stared. "How could you even conceive of that?"

"I don't like being toyed with." It was his turn for his eyes to harden. "My destiny may not be entirely my own, but won't tolerate the dreams or the taint urging me to murder."

"Then… the geas you put upon me… on us…"

"Yes. You must have noticed."

She hadn't noticed, not truly. The urge to murder wasn't as driving, now she thought back on it. She had felt more emotional, less driven by her instinct. The accusation was out before she could stop it, "You crippled me."

"From becoming a mindless slave?"

The elf maiden hesitated.

"You know that's what he wants from us. We lose ourselves, becoming his shadows, driven by his shadow. Our only purpose is to murder. We murder each other, we murder everyone else. It increases the fear in him, hastening his ascendency. You wanted to share the prize; we are his victims, born to be murdered as we ourselves become murder."

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Who exactly are you, Aalin?"

"A scholar." His smile was back. Then his expression darkened. "I've had a long time to think about the nature of what we are. The nature of our father. Do you remember the sacrificial stones, where we lay, where our own mothers raised the knife? Most of us were taken then. The ones who weren't are those we face today. Bhaal always intended for us to die. I've known this my whole life. And so, I have resisted."

Illasera hesitated. Finally, after the silence was only filled by the crackling of burning logs and the howls outside, she murmured, "You hate him."

"Don't you? Look at what he was, what he is. He won't share, little sister. His shadow makes whatever pacts and promises, but it lies. All it hungers for is murder. Is that what you want?"

"What choice do I have? What choice do any of us have?"

"I've thought a lot about that too." Aalin's face was calm, but there was a slight tremor to his hand. "We establish our own ascendancy, like you said. I doubt any of you ever intended to truly unite and you each planned to turn on each other but I believe it is possible. One of us could take the throne, and the others serve as Exarchs, demigods."

"And who would take the throne? You?" Her words were tight.

"Someone has to. Do you want to die, little sister?"

She didn't need to answer.

"Then let me ask you this: do you want to rule? I don't. Do you trust yourself to be a god?"

Illasera drew in a sharp breath. "I… what choice is there?"

"I'm still working on it, but if you didn't have to die, and didn't have to rule, would you accept it?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "It isn't possible. Even this geas… it's only temporary. We can't escape that, Aalin."

His smile was sad. He rose. After a moment, she joined him. His hands caught hers, and she tensed. Staring into her eyes, he said quietly, simply, "Bhaal was once a petty, vindictive mortal who stole and murdered, and obtained the power to make himself a god. Our sire is nothing more than a thief. He stole lives, and I do not intend to permit him to steal my life any more than I intend to allow him to steal yours. If he could claim such power, then we can too.

"He is not the only god out there. The others may not aid us, but their very existence brings us hope: no matter what lies our sire's shadow whispers, he is dead and we are not. While we are alive, we can live beyond this curse we harbour. It may be that we can never escape it, but shadow or not, we carry within us the power of a god. We choose how to shape that power, Illasera."

"You are so naïve…" Her eyes lowered, then met his. "You and Balthazar… you would have argued but you might have won him over." Shaking her head slightly, the elf maiden's tone quietened. "I understand what she saw in you, this Aribeth of yours. You have never given up, have you? On her, on me…"

"Never."

She didn't ask why, and didn't yank her hands back. How had he disarmed her? She felt so tired, as if all the fight had left her. He just stood there, holding her in his gaze. He was a necromancer, a practitioner of black arts. His hands squeezed hers, and then withdrew. Disappointment, frustration and overwhelming fatigue surged.

"Get some rest, little sister."

Illasera shook her head. "We're not done here."

"Can it not wait long enough for you to recover yourself?"

"Stop being so kind." Something of her former harshness resurfaced.

"Then tell me of your endeavours, Illasera. What did you learn?"

"Her greed is exactly what you said it was. She has shown an interest, and wishes to know more. She was disappointed I did not have the mythallar on me, and would have struck had she not realised what we were. She was tempted to anyway. She is not to be trusted."

He nodded as if he expected no less.

"I found a… merchant who might be of interest to you."

Aalin waited.

"She is being housed in the fifth tower."

"Is that all you have to tell me?"

The elf maiden's stare was hard.

He sighed, and touched her wrist. "You might have said that 'a lady has her secrets', little sister."

"I told you before: I'm not your daughter, wife or little sister."

"What about my whore?"

Her eyes widened.

His hands slid beneath her elbows, "I jest, Il. Smiling once in a while wouldn't hurt you."

Her whole body went rigid.

Ignoring it, he leaned in and kissed the centre of her forehead. "Thank you. I'll take Ica and speak to her tomorrow."

"Ica…?"

"Icasaracht."

"Does she know you call her that?"

He shrugged.

"I really don't like you, brother."

"Siblings often squabble, or so I hear. We just take it to a whole other level." Then his eyes fixed on her, and the light in them became distant. More quietly than anything they'd exchanged that conversation, he said, "I'm never going to see you as weak, Illasera. You don't have to be the supreme warrioress all the time. I'm not going to think less of you. Isn't it enough we are meant to kill each other without us killing ourselves? There's nowhere safe, and death can come at any moment. Whether you have your guard up or whether you don't, it may not be enough. Even if it is, what kind of life are you living? You're alive right now. Stop being so afraid."

"I'm not afraid." There was no force in her words. "What are you trying to prove, Aalin? That you're not father?"

"I know I'm not."

"Or is it… was there someone you left behind? Is that what this is about? Why you're so hells-bent on proving you're right? Could it be you _had_ a little sister? Are you trying to make me into one?"

"Would you like me to leave, Il?"

"Yes." The word was flat, dry. Little more than a rasp.

His eyebrow rose.

"Get out." It was little more than a whisper.

Aalin didn't move.

Her hands clenched. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

Very gently, he pulled her close by the elbows.

"I hate you."

His hand rose up to stroke her hair and his lips brushed her brow.

No tears fell, but she shook, fuming. "I will kill you."

He didn't say anything.

Her head rested on his shoulder.

Several long minutes passed, and then several more. Eventually, his hand found hers.

"Do you want me to stay?" His words were softer than even his touch.

"…Yes."


	63. Tonal Shift

Tonal Shift

A little while later, found her in her bath, and him with his legs stretched out, book in hand. The 'couch' the homunculi made left a fair bit to be desired, but its basic frame was usable. Barely. Illasera's head arced back, and a wooden shelf sat across the tub. Two homunculi attended her. Another attended him, and kept his goblet topped up, though his sips were occasional and few. After a time, she rose, and her attendants draped her with a blanket, towelled her down, and then a robe. Barefoot, she entered the main room, her steps light.

Aalin looked over his shoulder. Wordlessly, she made her way over to him, and placed her hand on his shoulder. He met her eyes. For once, they weren't hard, or cold. Then she slid down onto his lap; he set the book aside. Curling up, she closed her eyes and his arms settled around her. As he stroked her hair, she shifted, side-on against him. His lips brushed the side of her head, and at his silent command, the homunculi brought blankets.

"Still want to murder me?" He teased after an hour or so.

She didn't answer.

Rubbing her shoulder, he jostled and rocked her gently. Later still, he lifted her and carried her to her bed. Before he set her down, she opened her eyes; he kissed her brow. "I'm not going anywhere."

She nodded, then leaned against his chest. Her hand caught his before he could leave, and with the slightest of sighs, he slipped in beside her. She shuffled over for him, ensuring his arms were firmly around her. In the morning, they both knew that she'd be back to her cold, hard self, that this night had never happened, but neither would forget it. As Aalin drew her close, adjusting his arm beneath her, he realised this was the first time he had shared a bed with another since… She snuggled closer, then after a moment, lifted his robe. He allowed it, and she settled against his under-tunic and entered the reverie.

That night, the nightmares came thick and fast, for both of them. She writhed and thrashed, and his brow knit. She pressed against him, and even in her dreams, his presence soothed her, somehow. For him, the geas held back the severity, but the taint was angry and determined to punish him. It was one thing for him to resist on his own; it was another to try and steal the vessel that would murder him.

In her nightmares, she was betrayed a thousand different ways, and worse. When Aalin's phantom figure slew her, death was a release from the agonies he'd inflicted. The elf maiden woke with tears in her eyes; Aalin's body was rigid. Somehow, in spite of it, his hands still cupped her hair and back. Drawing in deep breaths, her heartbeat slowed, and she lay there, studying him. Then she slid closer, his bicep her pillow as she lay on her back.

When he finally left the reverie, his eyes opened slowly. Part of him expected to find her gone, but instead, she lay staring at him. He forced a smile. "Rough night?"

She nodded, and he brushed her cheek with the back of his forefingers. Her eyes closed at his touch, and she sighed gently.

"Should I ask?" His tone was mild, even light.

"Ask what?" Illasera countered without fire, "my dreams? Or… do you mean something else?"

"You know this might give others the wrong impression." He tucked her hair behind her ear.

She didn't bother slapping at his hand. "The body is a tool."

"Well, yes, but…"

"If you're talking about love, that isn't a luxury either of us can afford." The cold had returned.

He sighed. "I didn't mean anything by it."

She softened slightly. "You not asking and you're not interested."

"If you offer, I'll be insulted." He slid onto his back. "I was just saying people will wonder if they find out we're sharing a bed."

"You're trying to be funny…"

He glanced over at her. "Is it working?"

Her expression was cool.

"Guess not. Well, let them talk. Little sisters sometimes sneak into their big brothers bed."

"I've killed for less."

"Then I must be doing something right." He nudged her lightly. "You can be your usual self outside of the rooms.

Surprising him, she nodded.

"I expected an elbow in the side for that. Not a knife, please."

She shuffled closer, then rested her head on his chest. "Is it a little sister you so desperately want, Aalin?"

His features darkened.

"She's gone. You're lonely."

"We all are." He shrugged, unsettling her momentarily.

"You don't have to be."

He didn't answer.

"You could have your pick. All of us. That Aurilite priestess as your consort, or that dragon. The Uthgardt. Me."

"Why are you offering?"

"Maybe I'm lonely too."

"No, that isn't it." Aalin frown deepened as he studied her. "Trying to test me, little sister?"

She fell silent.

Reaching over, he kissed her forehead, and re-tucked her hair behind her ear. "Think of what to put on the banner, Il?"

"…Aalin, tonight…"

"My chamber or yours?"

Her smile was wan and she nestled.

More seriously, he murmured, as he stroked her hair, "It's never the same waking up from the nightmares after having had someone hold you."

Her head managed the barest of inclines.

"Did he hurt you?"

Another nod.

"Worse?"

Her words ran cold. "He wore your face and v–"

His fingers covered her mouth. "Don't talk about it. It isn't real. You'd know if it was because of the geas."

She nodded slowly.

"I don't mind. I told you: little sisters sometimes climb into their big brothers beds. If it helps keep the nasty monsters away, you come and find me."

Rather than protest, the elf maiden squeezed his hand.

"I believe I have a red wyrm to barter with. Want to come with, or mingle with our new host? Someone will need to train with them. I guess we both should." Then he added with a small chuckle, "No starting any wars while I'm gone. Or seducing Lysan."

"You want her for yourself, brother?" A tiny hint of mirth touched her.

"Ica might get jealous, and the last thing I want to come back to is a stand off between the three of you." Aalin yawned and stretched. "Ugh. Do we have to do this, sis? Can't we just stay here. Maybe Sarevok will trip on a root and break his neck or something."

Illasera actually smiled. Then it turned dark.

"No. Don't you go getting any ideas. The less he knows, the less anyone knows, the better. Might be a little hard with thousands of Uthgardt and a white wyrm matriarch, and an Aurilite priestess, and it'll be ever so much fun feeding them, but the longer we keep it secret, the more time we have to prepare. The only real question is: do we move south, or do we hole up here? The Uthgardt will grow impatient if we linger."

She spread her hand on his tunic-covered chest. "What's our next step?"

"After Tholapsyx? The Underdark."

"You should go and see who I brought back."

"You want me to find someone that you brought back with absolutely no details given, when there are scores of Uthgardt out there?"

"You can't miss her."

"A her, hmm? She doesn't happen to be a, I don't know, drow, does she?"

"You met her?" Faint surprise passed Illasera, as she tried to work out when he could have. "Your homunculi–"

"Nothing like that. I was talking about the Underdark, so I guessed it had to be one of the deep peoples, and you said 'her', and it's less likely that…" He shrugged, and rubbed her back. "We need to figure out how to convince the Drow to ally with us. Can we get a message to Sendai? She'll listen to you, won't she?"

"It's possible." Illasera pursed her lip. "I was the last of the Five to join."

"I imagine you were the youngest."

"Sendai's pretty young too." Her features hardened. "Not that you'd know it. She acts like she's older but she's inexperienced."

"Do you think between the Uthgardt and Drow, we'd stand a chance?"

"I… maybe?"

"Do you know how many of her commanders escaped with her?"

Illasera shook her head.

"She may be more of a liability than a help, then." He vocalised what he presumed were her thoughts as well as his. "Which is to say, we can't rely on her, or Balthazar. We're on our own."

"Yes." The elf maiden said softly.

She wouldn't have agreed to this otherwise, Aalin acknowledged. Absently, he scratched a spot on her lower back as he ran through his thoughts; her suppressed giggles drew his attention away. "Are you… ticklish?"

She squirmed, wriggled and writhed. When he didn't let up, her arms started thrashing and her legs kicking. His other hand reached up her gown and she began to whimper and burst out laughing.

"Not until you admit it." Catching and pinning her with one arm, his fingers moved along her sides while his other hand roamed across her back. After a while he stopped; by then her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were watery and she was hypersensitive, jerking at the slightest touch, real or imagined. She hadn't stopped giggling no matter how hard she tried to contain it. She had almost wriggled out of her gown entirely; it had ridden far above her waistline and bunched under his arm. He smoothed it down, setting her off even more.

"Never been tickled?"

She shook her head, sucking in mouthfuls of air.

His eyes held an amused glint. "Enjoyed it?"

The elf maiden didn't answer.

Rolling them both, with her under him, he trapped and held her foot. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that." His forefinger drew along the sole of her foot with feather-lightness, and the on her toes, and catching Illasera's braid, he brought it down across her sole. She snatched the pillow to smother her mouth with; her whole body shook.

One thing was certain, Aalin decided, as she flailed haplessly while imitating a moving snake, she was certainly not quite the same cold-hearted daughter of Murder as when she first approached the Hand of the Seldarine. Her little, silvery peals of laughter held a purity and innocence that made him smile. Accordingly, he varied the tempo and strength of his touch, and she actually seemed disappointed when he stopped. By then, her gown was in a heap beside her pillow, but she didn't seem to mind in the slightest; when he flipped her over, she gifted him with the most amazing, full and brilliant smile he had seen in years. He couldn't resist tickling her belly, and she exhaled so abruptly and loudly, he half thought she was in pain. Instead, she covered her face with the pillow, and drummed heels against the bed, her back and knees arching.

Unable to help himself, his eyes twinkling, he reached down and blew a raspberry against her bellybutton; shock gripped her, and from under the pillow, she stared as if he had gone mad. Then she reached and caught his cheek, "Thank you, Aalin."

He turned to look at her, and quickly, she reared to kiss him lightly. Face still lit, she scuttled against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Guess you never had siblings to have tickle fights with?"

She shook her head.

"Well, now you do."

She squeezed his forearm. "Aalin?"

He regarded her calmly.

A slow blush crept up her cheeks. "Again. Please?"

An amused grin passed over him, and spinning her facedown, he reached for the second pillow, and opened it up all over her. She shrieked as a cloud of tiny white feathers covered her and his shin held her. "You asked for it." He murmured, setting to work. He strongly suspected she had never laughed so much in her life, let along giggled as hard. It only increased when he signalled the homunculi to silently bring over the yeti fur scarf and gloves. The instant it touched the back of her thigh, she all but went into spasm and uncontrollable giggle fit. Aalin tucked that away in his mind, deciding to put it to great effect the next time she sat on his lap. As he flicked and dusted her with the end of the scarf, he wondered how much of a childhood, if any, she had received. Could she have been a child assassin? She really was starved for touch and affection. He supposed he was too.

At this rate, it'd be more than her pillow that was wet; as he slowed to signal the homunculi for a chamber pot, she begged, "Don't stop?"

He shook his head. Well, it was her bed.


	64. That's All Folks

**A/N: So that's as far as I got. The reason for this is that NWN2 is simply a vast game with a great deal of detail. However, I did leave detailed notes of where I intended to take the story next - notes that I will share below. It will provide more of the same as well as, I hope, a little bit of resolution. The climax remains unwritten, but essentially, Aria faces the Solar and makes her choice, Aalin's story concludes, and we see Imoen. **

**Ultimately, Aria's choice is simple: does she choose to destroy or does she rise above her heritage and the curse of the Spirit Eater?**

**While this may not be a very satisfying point to end at for you, dear readers, I don't know if I ever will get around to finishing this particular piece. If I do, I will scrub this chapter and continue writing, but until then, I'll let you decide Aria's choice.**

**Please read and review!**

* * *

That's all Folks

Lessons from Moire lesson

Aria reports back about the Githyanki, and Mephasm. Moire listens intently, then gives Aria a lead on the murderer; says it's nothing to do with her, and while she doesn't care if corrupt nobles get it, she doesn't like anyone operating in _her_ city without permission. She then introduces her to Axle, whom Aria is very polite to. Axle is urbane, sophisticated, a philosopher with killer eyes. Aria feels intimidated but smiles at him. Axle laughs, and his smile is reticent, and Aria feels he's smiling at, not with her, and feels the butt of a joke.

Afterwards, on the way out, Moire grabs her by the upper arm. "You passed." She said flatly.

"I disappointed you." Aria's face fell.

Moire stopped, then her secretive, knowing smile was back, and her fingers reach to brush Aria's cheek. "Not now."

Moire leads her into the cellar and tosses her a couple of daggers. Then her true training begins.

* * *

Never-ending-Nights - the long slog

Having thought she had rid the Githyanki from Neverwinter, Aria talks to Aldanon the sage; Aldanon has a piece of silver and confirms that the other two pieces Aria has are part of a Githyanki silver sword. He remembers how Ammon Jerro, the court mage, once owned a Githyanki silver sword and would have known a great deal more about it. Aldanon believes that Jerro had a 'haven' hidden away somewhere; he checks the Neverwinter archive for any sign of Jerro's family, since he believes Ammon Jerro dead. Aldanon points her towards Shandra Jerro. Aria remembers meeting her briefly in Highcliff, but tracks her down to ask about Ammon Jerro.

A band of Githyanki that weren't at the base were stalking Aria, and launched an ambush against Shandra's farm and set the place on fire; Aria manages to break through, but some of the Githyanki escape, and Aria convinces Shandra to return to Neverwinter with them, and puts her up in the Sunken Flagon. Shandra doesn't want to leave, but agrees. Aria sets up a guard to watch over Shandra, but the human refuses to have one in her room, not caring for Elanee, or Neeshka, and she refuses to bunk in the city watch house.

The Githyanki strike again, burning the Sunken Flagon and making off with Shandra to use as bait against Aria. Aria gives chase and finds them in a village, Ember, beyond the city. The whole village has been burnt.

"Why are you doing this?" Aria demands. Surprised and disgusted by her ignorance, Zeeaire, the Githyanki leader, admits to being a 'Sword Stalker', and that the destruction of their base and portal was a setback. No reinforcements had been called in, but she was determined to recover the shards. Aria irritably snaps that if she had wanted them, she could have just asked and she'd have handed them over; Zeeaire laughs and informs her that just handling the sacred swords is a crime punishable by death. Then she hisses and exclaims that Aria has one in her chest.

Aria folds her arms and demands 'Why Shandra?'. Zeeaire claims that Ammon Jerro is still alive and he was the one who sent the demons, and if it had just been Aria, her assault would have failed. Zeeaire tells them that they have both been marked for death, and she will carry out the sentence; they needed to know why they were being executed. Aria demands why Jerro had the sword in the first place. Zeeaire claims he was a 'thief', and used the sword against a 'shadow'. Aria doesn't understand. She demands to know why the Githyanki destroyed a village. Zeeaire sneers at her and says that 'humans did this'; 'which humans?'; 'those serving the shadows'; 'what shadow?'. Zeeaire tells her that before, Aria's death would have been enough, but Aria shamed her and now, Aria will be shamed; even if Aria somehow survives, she'll be blamed for the destruction of Ember. Zeeaire assures her that won't be the case. This village is just one example of what will happen to all the land when the shadow wins.

Aria glares at her. Aliana whispers. 'Why don't you help then? Your swords are needed to fight the shadow, right? That's why Jerro stole it?' ; Zeeaire sneers, 'We might have, but you destroyed our base.' ; 'You attacked us first!' Aria glares. 'You never intended to help, did you?' Then she drew in a breath. 'What if… what if you helped in exchange for my life?' ; 'Your life is already forfeit.' ; 'How do you know what this shadow is anyway?' ; 'It has been our foe for centuries', Zeeaire explained. 'It attacked our realm'. Her eyes gleamed with hatred. 'It came from your lands, these lands'. 'Huh?'; 'You are so ignorant.' ; 'And you're ugly. If we're done trading insults…' ; 'yes, it is time to end this.' ; 'no, that isn't what I meant! I have questions!' she drew in a breath. 'Please?' ; 'The time for questions is over; it's time you answered with your life.'

Elanee has caught up to Aria, and witnesses the battle. Aria asks afterwards where Khelgar and Neeshka are; both of them were badly wounded, but alive. They look at the burnt down village, and decide it's best not to linger.

As they start to return, Elanee confesses that something is wrong with the Meredelain; she has been feeling something wrong with the land for a while, and wants to return to investigate. Aria agrees to go with her. Shandra rolls her eyes, but tags along too. She's saddened by the destruction of Ember, as she traded there and at Port Llast. Finally, Aria asks, 'What do you think this shadow was she kept mentioning?' Aria pursed her lips, 'The same as in the Mere that the lizardfolk were fleeing from? I wonder… d'you think that necromancer serves 'this shadow'?' ; Elanee nodded slowly. ; 'Well… we don't have any way of fighting them. Just… fragments of a broken sword. I wonder if we can restore it?' Aria mused. Shandra said nothing. ; 'We need to do something. Brelaina thinks that West Harbour might have to fall back to Fort Locke, and if that hag wasn't lying, then Ember is only the start. She said the whole land would be covered in shadow.'

'The Skymirror isn't too far from Neverwinter.' Elanee explained. 'It's a place of the Circle. I can use it to contact the other members of my order.'

Aria nodded. 'Then back to Neverwinter?'

So that's what they did. When they returned and reported to Brelaina, Aria's arrested. Charged with the 'destruction of Ember'; a Luskan ambassador of the Host Tower arrived and demanded Aria's extradition. Nasher, instead, indirectly promotes her for her actions against the Githyanki, making her a squire of Sir Nevalle. Nevalle makes her his squire, with a silent nod from Nasher. Torio, the ambassador demands trial by combat. As a squire, Aria is not subject to the 'low law' but the 'high law'.

After the trial, Moire approaches Aria. Aria is exhausted, and Moire tells her student she has done well. Aria understands that squire or not, she isn't free and she is still Moire's creature. It's been a while since they've seen each other, and Moire didn't approach her while she was incarcerated; her people reported that Aria left the city in pursuit, and after that, she just disappeared until she returned to Neverwinter and didn't report in. Moire's people marked Aria's return. Too tired to argue, Aria just slumps, sprawled, but rather than hurt her, Moire simply lifts her chin and looks coldly into her eyes. Seeing how tired she is, Moire releases her and tells her she'll 'be in touch'.

Brelaina, however, congratulates her coolly, and says that she's earned it. However, now she's Nevalle's squire, her duties may be a little different. Aria promises to liaise with her as much as she can.

To the Solar, Aria reveals that, Torio is an agent of Black Garius, who has been coordinating the necromancers; hearing that Black Garius had been ousted by the Host Tower, Torio defected and asked for amnesty. The Host Tower condemned all Black Garius' followers to death.

Aria discovered this after learning Aldanon has been kidnapped and taken to a place called 'Crossroad Keep'. Nevalle informs her of this, and mentions there'll be an operation; he looks pointedly at her. Understanding, she volunteered her services, and asks for her 'old squad', to serve as 'advanced scouts' and range ahead. Nevalle arrives to secure Crossroads Keep, and Aria snuck through the ranks, fought another necromancer there, and rescued Aldanon. He was held alongside a githzerai named Zhjaeve. Zhjaeve would later teach her the unbroken circle of zerth. Crossroads keep was a derelict fortress, a base used by the necromancers. While Nevalle secured the base, Aria asked for permission to hunt down those who had fled. Nevalle grants it, and with her small band, Aria gives chase.

Aria explains to the Solar how after tracking the necromancers to Arvahn, an Illefarn ruin, where they discovered the 'shadow' was a guardian of Illefarn, who turned to the 'Shadow Weave' at the moment of the spell 'Karsus' Avatar', when Karsus killed Mystryl, the then goddess of magic. The surviving necromancers were attempting to destroy the 'ritual of purification', set up to destroy the Guardian of Illefarn. She fought them off, but unable to complete the ritual, as she had only activated four of the five pillars, and at a loss of where the last one was, due to the necromancers' vandalism. Falsely believing that she had driven them away, she returned from the fourth pillar to find one of the necromancers had been hiding, and had finished the job. Three of the pillars were ruined. The necromancer took his own life rather than fall into Aria's hands.

Aria returned to Crossroads Keep, to report into Nevalle. After resting, they returned Aldanon to Neverwinter. Aldanon revealed that the leader of the necromancers, Black Garius, had been questioning him about Jerro and the silver sword, along with a magical artefact, a tome he had stolen from the Host Tower.

Aria reported into Moire and her lessons continued. Moire did not openly show surprise at how adept Aria was or how quickly she picked things up. Moire warns her not to be distracted and the 'true war' is yet to come. She says that whether some renegade mages have fallen prey to some ancient curse, or resurrected some golem, Nasher is still the true threat, and there is still a blood debt he owes the city. Aria is just as much a pawn as her mother and father were. Disturbed, Aria goes to the Sunken Flagon. She finds Shandra inside.

Aria found Ammon Jerro's Haven with Shandra's help. Shandra had been thinking on the stories her mother told her about her grandfather, and remembered rough landmarks. Aldanon was able to find an old map and they searched for the Haven. Inside, they found Mephasm and many others, but Shandra, upon stepping onto a circle she didn't see, teleported. The demons then warned her that her friends would be killed by the Haven's defences, learning that her blood would undo the bindings, cut herself and this allowed the demons to return to the hells, in order to thwart the tower's defences.

Sensing his power was being diminished, Ammon Jerro arrived, and believing himself under attack, struck down Shandra, only to discover she was his granddaughter. Aria coldly informed him of this, and then demanded if he was responsible for the Blacklake murders; she coldly threw the shards at his feet and asked if Shandra's death was worth it, that she had only come seeking answers. She didn't know Shandra had undone the bindings, or even why; she then asked if Jerro had stolen the silver sword from the Githyanki. From her knees, Aria looked up and asked if it were possible to bring Shandra back, but Jerro shook his head.

He accused them of ruining the one chance they had against the King of Shadows.

Where had he been anyway? Aria demanded, and then she asked if he knew where the last piece of the ritual was.

Jerro answered he had been tracking down the pieces of the ritual since he had recovered most of the sword of Gith, but not all of it. Aria demanded why he hadn't gone after the ritual first; he answered coldly that without the sword, there was no way of slaying the Guardian, and the Githyanki were the more immediate threat. He explained while they had been fumbling, he had activated the final piece of the ritual. He, was, however, attacked, and upon its completion, he was forced to withdraw due to _someone_ unravelling his bindings. Since he already had the ritual in his possession, he saw no reason to protect it. Aria snarled at him and called him 'arrogant'; if he failed, who would be able to use the ritual after him? Jerro answered that if he failed, they were all dead anyway. Then he told them he was going to finish the ritual. Aria sheepishly explained that that wouldn't be possible either. She had collected the ritual where she could, but the necromancers had destroyed it. Jerro coldly informed her they would have to work together.

The ritual bestowed the power to break the Guardian on a person.

They returned to Neverwinter to inform Nasher of the threat; Jerro informed him that Black Garius was working for the King of Shadows, and Nasher granted Aria command of Crossroads Keep, naming her a knight and captain.

* * *

Moire Finale

Moire sends summons and Aria visited her. It's at this point, Moire demands that she proves her loyalty, and reveals she has Cormick, along with Axel, and hands Aria the knife. Cormick, bound and gagged, struggles when he sees her. Axel's gaze is furious. Both have been beaten bloody. Moire's eyes are cold. Aliana warns her that it isn't an illusion, and it's unlikely either she nor Cormick will leave the cellar alive if she turns on Moire. Aria understands Moire can't be reasoned with either. "This is where it begins." Moire tells her. With Axel gone, Moire will seize control of Neverwinter's underworld, and with Cormick gone, Brelaina will be distracted.

"It might be better to use him as a bargaining piece." Aria ventured, looking towards Cormick as she held the knife. Moire rounds on her, and Aria winces, but doesn't budge. "I _know_ her. She'll be more unsettled if she thinks he's alive. Let me take his fingers back to her."

Moire frowns, then smiles.

Aware of the gravity of the threat, Aria understands that Neverwinter can ill afford a revolution, especially with the enemy right outside their doorstep, and if Jerro was right, the Guardian was raising the remains of all the slain in the Meredelain.

_"You can finish this, now."_ Aliana murmurs. Aria approaches Cormick, he struggles. Inward, she murmurs, "How?"; "There will be a war if the two leaders are killed. It will destabilise Neverwinter and undo what your parents fought to protect. If Moire wins, she will set the city alight." ; "So I must side with Axel?" ; "He could become an agent for Nasher. Moire never will." More quietly, Aliana whispered, "she isn't your mother, or protector. She won't have marked you for death; she wants you for herself. You need to make a choice, now." ; "How do I stop her?" ; "Kill her." Aliana instructed. "Trip, and fall, and tuck the knife in your sleeve; she will come for you. She will be angry; shield your face and start to plead. Curl into a ball, so she reaches down. Let her strike you. Beg her for another chance. She will see your tears and think you're young and foolish. Hold out your arms like a child. Kiss her. Thrust between her ribs."

"What if she's wearing something…?"

"If it doesn't slide in, withdraw it, push her and slash her throat before she can recover. Then drive it into her eye. Kick her away and roll. Keep hold of your knife. If you fail, she'll kill you."

The Solar waited.

"Cormick and I found Axel to be a reasonable man. He owed us, owed me, and in his world, debts weren't forgotten. There might be no honour amongst thieves, but Axel considered himself a civilised and principled man. We fought our way out of the house; that night, there was a purge. Moire's loyalists were slaughtered in their homes, their taverns and whenever they were found. After Axel had dealt with the higher ups, he offered an amnesty to those willing to switch sides. He understood that not everyone blindly followed Moire's ideals and many who did did so out of fear. I got Cormick back to Brelaina, and the watch put the district on lockdown."

She looked away. "I betrayed her… it wasn't like hunting an orc. She held me, comforted me, struck me. In the end, she smiled. She was furious, but also proud of me. I don't understand why. I… murdered her."

"Perhaps," the Solar imparted, "her heart wasn't as far gone as you imagined. In the end, you became the child she had lost, and in ending her, you freed yourself and proved you no longer needed her. All parents desire and mourn the day their child can stand without them."

"Did she expect it, I wonder? I asked myself that so many times. Did she force that confrontation? She had to have her war, and I was the only one who could stop her. Did part of her want to be stopped?"

"You couldn't turn her from her course, godchild. You both understood that. For her, there was no future, and only one way it could end. Whether by your hand then, or after she had groomed you into her likeness, and you ruled as her enforcer, she understood that one day, you would succeed her."

She nodded, miserably. "I wish… I wish there could have been another way."

"You loved her, child. In her own way, she had grown to love you." More gently, the Solar added, "Look closely. The moment you raised your knife, she knew, and chose not to strike you. She understood the terrible burden you faced. She was proud of you."

Aria shivered.

"What did she teach you, godchild?"

"She… taught me how to kill. How to… survive. Her gifts were many. She… showed me the destruction hatred causes, how it consumed her. How she couldn't let go." Aria sighed loudly. "In a way, she wore Akachi's curse more than I did, for far longer."

The Solar smiled.

* * *

Aria, bored with the telling, explained that they had rebuilt the keep and stood against Black Garius' forces both at the keep and in Highcliff, and how both Fort Locke, and West Harbour had been destroyed. Highcliff was unable to withstand the assault and their populace along with some of West Harbour, had fled to Crossroads Keep. There, they made their final stand. Before the battle, Aria had returned to West Harbour with Elanee and Zhjaeve to reforge Gith's sword. Moving away from Crossroads Keep, Jerro had distracted the Guardian, drawn him away and fought him alone, while Aria destroyed Black Garius; with Black Garius' death, there was enough confusion in the enemy for Aria to slip away and face the Guardian with Jerro. They fought above an ancient mound, which collapsed under them during their battle. Using the ritual, they were able to bring down the Guardian, and Gith's sword slew him, but in his death throes, he collapsed the complex.

The next thing Aria knew, she was somewhere else. [Enter Mask of the Betrayer].

* * *

**A/N: So there you have it. The notes on what would have been. Thanks for reading! I'm sorry there are loose ends and things haven't been neatly tied up. Maybe one day.**


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